


With or Without

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 129,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then Xander has adventures with some evil lawyers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are nineteen parts to this story (yes, I know I said 18 earlier. I lied.). I'll post one a day. Some are long and will be in two or three parts. This is a dark fic. It's not as graphic as some of my previous fics, and I do hate spoilery warnings. If you have concerns, PM me and I'll give you a quick rundown. Also, while Spike/Xander is by far the main pairing, there are a few surprises.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 1a**_  
**Chapter Title:** October 2014 (part 1a)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then Xander has adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** There are nineteen parts to this story (yes, I know I said 18 earlier. I lied.). I'll post one a day. Some are long and will be in two or three parts. This is a dark fic. It's not as graphic as some of my previous fics, and I do hate spoilery warnings. If you have concerns, PM me and I'll give you a quick rundown. Also, while Spike/Xander is by far the main pairing, there are a few surprises.  
As always, comments are hugely appreciated!

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

****Today's entry is in two parts!****

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**  
OCTOBER 2014**

 

 

1.

“With or without?”

“Huh?”

“You want with or without?” The desk clerk tapped his fingers impatiently.

Xander shuddered a little. Fucking LA. “Without,” he said firmly.

The clerk’s fingers danced over his keyboard. “Hmm. The only available without room I have tonight is one of the Monaco suites. Very nice room, but….”

“How much?”

“Five twenty-five plus tax.”

Xander snorted. No way that would get approved. “What else do you have?”

“I have a standard deluxe room with. That’s one fifty plus tax.”

Xander sighed. “Fine. I’ll take that.”

He only had the one suitcase, so he dragged it himself past the fountain with the potted ferns and over to the elevators. It seemed to take forever for the car to arrive, and then another forever to get to the twelfth floor, and the entire time Xander fumed. _Why_ did it have to be _him_ who attended these stupid meetings? And why did it have to be in LA, several hundred miles closer to good old Sunny-D than he ever wanted to be? Stupid Franklin and her stupid baby. How come he didn’t get eight weeks of paid leave? Well, okay, there was the whole giving birth thing, but still. Not fair.

Room 1256 was down a long corridor, left turn, another long corridor, then a right. He slid his key through the reader and opened the door.

It wasn’t a bad room. King-sized bed with about a zillion pillows. Linens in nice bland creams and reds. Big bathroom with—hello! Flat panel tv set into the mirror! He could watch the game tomorrow in the bathtub if he wanted. Nice big desk. Mini-fridge full of horribly overpriced and undersized bottles of booze. He peeked out the window. It was an interior room, with a view of the atrium. Another big flat-panel hanging on the wall. Ugly abstract painting of gray and beige rectangles.

And, there in the corner, the with.

It was in Present position, of course, its hooded face pressed to the floor, its pale, round ass raised high and facing toward the room. Its knees were widely spread, revealing the tight pink pucker between its cheeks. Its hairless balls and limp cock hung between its legs. Its arms were clasped behind its back. Its milky skin was stretched over lean muscles. It was completely motionless, not even breathing, and looked like a marble statue.

Xander sighed again.

An entire week with that thing.

He looked into the closet to see if maybe he could leave it in there, but nope. Not big enough. Damnit.

“Release!” he barked, but it didn’t move. Fucking hood.

He stomped over and slapped it twice on its left ass cheek. Immediately, it collapsed onto its side, curling into a tight, fetal ball.

He unpacked, trying to ignore the thing in the corner, but it was hard to ignore. The contrast between the black latex hood and the moon-white skin. The sharp line of vertebrae down the curved back. The taut muscles of the shoulders and arms.

Xander yanked the comforter off of the bed and threw it over the vampire, covering it completely.

There. That was better.

 

2.

It was torture.

Seven hours and thirty-eight minutes of sitting in conference rooms, staring at Powerpoint presentations, eating crappy sandwiches and trying not to tug at his tie. If somebody said the word “synergy” one more fucking time he would have flung himself out the eighteenth-floor window.

Never did a football game and a bathtub sound better.

He yanked off his tie the moment he got into his rented Ford. On the way back to the hotel he went to a Stop-n-Rob and bought a case of Heineken, then went through drive-through for an animal-style and fries. One thing he did miss about California was In-N-Out. With a half-smile at the bored desk clerk—who was kind of cute, now that he thought about it—he headed back to his room.

Crap.

The bed was all nicely made up, of course, the mauve-ish duvet smoothed back in place.

And the vampire was back in Present.

Okay, he thought. Just going to pretend it’s not there.

He sat on the bed with his back to the pale form in the corner, and he devoured his burger. A glop of ketchup fell on his pants. Fuck. Now he was going to have to get his suit cleaned. Then he shrugged. Eh. The company could spring for it.

His dinner finished, he managed to jam a half dozen bottles of beer into the fridge. He pulled off his clothes, grabbed a couple Heinekens and headed for the bath.

Watching the Chiefs kick Green Bay’s asses while he lazed in gallons of hot water did much to improve Xander’s mood. The beer helped, too. Thirty minutes later he emerged from the tub, slightly wrinkly and almost relaxed.

So when he walked back into the main room and the first thing he saw was the damn vampire, its ass still up in the air, he only sighed unhappily. He walked over, intending to release it from this position, and that’s when he noticed that it was trembling minutely.

Fuck.

Well, maybe he could get it to do…something. Fetch him more beers, maybe.

He didn’t really know the signals all that well, so he had to think for a minute before tapping the creature’s ass four times. It seemed to sag with relief for a split second before it rose to its knees and turned to face him. Its hands never left the small of its back.

The key to detach the hood was the same as the key for the minibar. He fumbled with the lock for a moment, and the creature seemed to thrum beneath his hands, as if every muscle in its body was wound like a spring. He wondered how long it had been hooded, deaf, blind, unable to breathe or smell.

Finally, the lock clicked open and he slowly pulled the latex away from the tight metal collar. When he uncovered the mouth, he saw that the vampire was gagged, too, a metal ball jammed between its teeth. The ball had an indentation in the front, and he stuck his finger in it and removed the gag from the vampire’s mouth. As soon as it was gone, the vampire took a deep, whooping breath, its chest trembling as its lungs filled.

He rolled the hood up over the rest of the vampire’s face and finally off of its bald scalp. He tossed it aside and looked at the slave curiously.

Its eyes were squeezed closed against the glare of the room, but soon it was blinking them and then opening them completely. It stole a glance at him before casting its gaze submissively down at the floor.

Xander walked to the fridge and pulled out a beer. He opened it and took a long swig, still looking at the vampire. There was something….

Oh, no. Oh, fuck.

“Spike?!” he said.

It looked up at him, and maybe there was a tiny glimmer of recognition in those blue eyes before they went blank again.

He put the bottle down and came closer, then lifted its chin with his hand. It still managed to avoid eye contact, but he saw enough. Razor cheekbones. Small scar on the left brow.

“Spike?” he said again. And this time the vampire didn’t even look up. He just remained motionless, panting slightly, the skin of his face cold against Xander’s palm.

“Spike? Do you know who I am?”

“Master,” the vampire replied softly, flatly.

“No,” Xander said, and the vampire flinched slightly. “Do you know my name?”

The vampire flinched again and said, “No, Master.” It may have been fifteen years or so, but there was no mistaking the voice, the sultry baritone with the British inflection.

Xander let go of Spike’s chin and sat on the edge of the bed.

Half a lifetime ago, this vampire haunted his dreams. His nightmares. And only after a decade of denial and two failed marriages did he admit to himself that all the stalking he’d endured in his sleep hadn’t actually been scary at all; the part of those dreams that really frightened him was that he liked it. It didn’t take Sigmund Freud to realize that all the biting that happened in those dreams—sometimes Spike bit him, and sometimes he bit Spike—might symbolize a different kind of penetration.

All right, so he liked men. He’d accepted that some time ago, and he had a long string of very masculine one-night stands to prove it.

He still hated vampires.

Even now, even when they’d all been caught and chipped and trained and fuck knows what else, and turned into obedient slaves and playthings.

And none of that gave him a clue about what to do now.

Spike didn’t move. He was in perfect form—knees widely spaced, his back ramrod straight, his head deeply bowed. They’d removed every hair on his body, as was usual with the rental models. They claimed it made them easier to disinfect between users. His muscles were as sculpted as ever, his nearly pearlescent skin unlined and unblemished. His cock was long and uncut.

Xander groaned. He didn’t want to be staring at Spike’s cock.

Xander rose and picked up the hood. Maybe if he didn’t have to see Spike’s face, he could pretend he didn’t know this vampire. But when he stood in front of him and prepared to put the hood back on, Spike started trembling. A tiny whimper, almost inaudible, escaped from him, and he flinched again, clearly expecting to be punished.

Xander sighed and threw the bit of latex on the floor. “Release,” he said, and with what might have been a sigh of relief, Spike sank to the floor and curled into a ball. Once again, Xander covered him completely with the comforter.

Maybe the rest of that Heineken would help.

 

3.

Thinking was difficult. Sometimes it would try, but its thoughts would melt away like candyfloss on the tongue, leaving nothing of substance, nothing of meaning. Usually it didn’t even make the effort, because the few thoughts that did achieve near-solidity only brought pain. Simple obedience was best. Only in obedience was there some measure of safety.

But sometimes it didn’t understand the correct way to obey a Master, and then it would have to do its pitiful best to puzzle it out.

This Master was one of those.

He’d said some strange words to the vampire, asked questions it wasn’t sure how to answer. He hadn’t used the vampire—had barely touched it, in fact—even though it had Presented and Knelt properly, and even though he’d smelled like he wanted to use it. Then he’d left the vampire covered all night.

But he’d allowed the vampire to remain Released instead of staying in position. That was a pleasant thing—to spend luxurious hours in comfort on its side, able to relax its muscles and even move a bit, so long as it didn’t disturb Master.

And he’d left the hood off. The vampire nearly sobbed over this. Nothing to see under the heavy blanket, of course, but so many precious hours able to hear and smell, able to _breathe_.

When the maid uncovered him in the morning, he saw that this Master’s suitcase was still in the room. This meant Master would return for at least another night. Perhaps he’d keep the hood off as well.

In the meantime, the maid vacuumed and dusted and made the bed. “Levántate!” she said, and the vampire Stood. It was the maid with the short curly hair, and that was good, because she treated the vampire like all the other objects she had to clean, and didn’t hurt it. Sometimes she sang to herself while she worked, too, and she had a nice voice.

The vampire Stood with its legs spread, its head down, and its hands behind its back. The maid pressed a tube into the inconspicuous port in its navel, and then the pinkish synthetic food was filling its belly. It had a momentary flash of memory of real blood, warm, salty, coppery deliciousness filling its mouth and sliding sweetly down its throat. But no—all that a slave tasted was whatever its Masters chose to shove in its mouth, and that was never blood. Semen, if it was lucky, but never blood.

The fluid was highly concentrated and after only a minute or so the maid withdrew the tube. She quickly wiped an alcohol-smelling cloth over the vampire’s head and face and torso and genitals, then she walked around its back and wiped its buttocks and the cleft between them. Much better than when a Master had checked out—then the vampire would be brought into the bathroom and washed down more thoroughly with a strong-scented chemical, and its mouth and rectum would be flushed with the chemical as well. The chemical burned where it contacted sensitive tissue.

The maid picked up the mask from where Master had discarded it last night, and the vampire couldn’t help tensing slightly. But she merely folded it and placed it on the bedside table next to the gag. “Posición,” she said, and the vampire turned, took a step into the corner, and fell into Present.

 

4.

Again, the day was excruciating. That idiot Davidson from the Houston office kept asking stupid questions, and Xander had to keep answering them calmly. Patiently. Repeatedly.

It was no help at all that he kept getting distracted with thoughts of vampires. Vicious, horrible vampires that murdered Jesse and Willow. Beautiful, naked vampires who knelt submissively at his feet, ready to comply with any command.

Fuck.

He needed to go home to Kansas City, where vampires were illegal and he could walk into his favorite sports bar and find any number of living, breathing men who’d be tickled pink to spend a few hours with him, screwing their brains out.

Finally, finally everyone packed away the blueprints and spreadsheets, and Xander climbed back in his ugly rental car and drove back to the hotel. He didn’t pick up dinner this time—there was an Applebee’s next to the hotel, and he figured he might get something there later. Now, he needed to unwind.

The room was nicely made up again, of course, and Spike was back in Present. Xander wondered how long he could stay in that position, how many hours he _did_ stay in the position. Wondered if the vampire felt discomfort the way a human would. In any case, the firm, round ass with the rosy little hole was not what he wanted to be staring at right now, so he Released the vampire. He pulled off his suit, noted that the ketchup-stained one had been returned from the dry-cleaners and now hung in the closet, and threw on a pair of shorts and an old, gray t-shirt.

The hotel had a decent fitness center, some of the equipment nearly as good as his club back home. He spent over an hour there, alternating between an elliptical machine and free weights. By the time he finished he was sweaty and pleasantly worn out. He wasn’t particularly hungry, either, so he grabbed an apple and a banana from the little café in the lobby, then headed back to his room.

Spike was still on his side, curled slightly into himself, his eyes open and staring at nothing.

Xander ate his fruit and took another bath, this time while watching a rerun of CSI. He thought he might need to install a tv in his own bathroom back home.

He had some email to catch up on, so he turned on the tinny clock radio and sat at the desk in his boxers, typing away on his laptop. And then, well, he surfed a little porn. But that turned out to be a bad idea, because he didn’t feel comfortable jerking off with Spike in the room, and it seemed too stupid to go into the bathroom for it, like a thirteen-year-old. Besides, vamp hearing being what it was, Spike would know anyway. He could put the hood back on, but that was like a lot of trouble to go to just for a hand job. Plus, Spike seemed afraid of the hood.

Xander shut down the computer and headed for bed. He caught Spike looking at him, his eyes wide. Spike quickly looked away. And, shit. His cock was firm against his belly, the foreskin retracted and the head red and shining.

Xander had heard that some slaves had been modified so that they couldn’t become aroused at all. Spike obviously wasn’t one of those. Conversely, others had had their sex drives amplified so that they were almost constantly aroused, their bodies extremely responsive to almost all stimuli. Xander didn’t think Spike was one of those, either—after all, he hadn’t been hard the last two evenings. Maybe he just got turned on hearing the grunts and moans on the computer speakers. Or maybe the scent of Xander’s own arousal did it for him.

As he watched, Spike’s breathing hitched slightly and a single drop of liquid appeared at the tip of his glans. Xander’s cock gave an answering little twitch, and Xander groaned. He climbed into bed and turned out the light.

 

5.

Master left the vampire uncovered, and it struggled hard not to move in discomfort as its cock and balls throbbed demandingly. It tried to keep its breathing steady, too, but it was afraid. This master had been so kind to it, but still hadn’t used it, despite his obvious need.

Was Master displeased with it? Would he complain to the Owners? _Please, please, no_, it wanted to beg. _Just tell me what to do. I’ll be good._ Because complaints led to very, very bad things.

The vampire bit its lip in the dark room, muffling a desperate whimper.

 

6.

Today was better. Instead of conference rooms and white boards, there was a site visit.

It had been several years since Xander had spent his full days on site; now he was lucky if he got out of the office once a week. Sure, he got paid a lot better now, and he was certainly a lot more comfortable when the weather was crappy. But he missed the satisfaction of building things himself, the almost dance-like quality of a really good team working together, the feel of a fresh breeze on honest sweat. Now he felt like a fraud. He’d always thought people in suits looked really stupid wearing hard hats.

But he enjoyed today’s outing. The site looked good, too, and it appeared as if the project was going to work out. That could mean a nice bonus for him, maybe even a promotion. He could get that Porsche he’d been eyeing, maybe take a trip somewhere. A guy he knew went on a gay cruise last year to Costa Rica, and said it was a blast.

He went out to dinner tonight with some of the LA team. It was a pricey seafood place and they all ordered a little extravagantly because this one was on the company. They drank, too, and Xander was actually slightly buzzed when he left. Luckily, it was only a short drive to the hotel. He didn’t usually drive drunk. His parents had been killed in a car accident after Tony had downed one too many. Xander hadn’t been surprised at all—it was only a matter of time, really. But he didn’t want to follow the family tradition.

Spike was waiting for him again, of course, ass high. Xander sat on a chair and sighed. Did he get bored, he wondered? And maybe it was because he was still a little drunk, but he decided to try talking to him again.

“Come here,” he ordered, and Spike turned around and crawled to him on all fours. He stopped a few feet away and Knelt.

“Look at me, please.”

Spike raised his head. His face was carefully blank, but Xander thought he was showing a little too much white around his irises.

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

Spike blinked rapidly. “M-M-Master,” he said uncertainly.

“No, I mean from before. Before you were…here.”

Spike shook his head.

“I was one of Buffy’s friends, one of the Scoobies.”

Xander hadn’t thought of that term in years. It hurt, almost. Remembering what it had been like to be a part of that little team, back when he was a kid. Before Buffy met Riley Finn and decided that instead of slaying vampires, she’d help enslave them. Before Oz was captured and Buffy refused to help spring him, leading to an irreparable rift between her and Willow and Xander. Before Willow had been drained walking from the library to her dorm room, and before Giles had given up on Buffy and returned to England.

“Do you remember, Spike? My name’s Xander Harris.”

“No, Master, I’m, I’m s-s-sorry,” Spike murmured, and then shrank back a little, as if he expected to be hit.

Xander sighed and sagged a little against the back of the chair. Maybe it was better this way, he thought. Easier on the vampire if he didn’t remember anything other than being a fucktoy. And if he didn’t recall being anything else, maybe this life…well, this existence…wasn’t that awful. He didn’t have to sleep in a crypt or worry about getting staked, and the hotel staff kept him clean and fed. And, while Xander supposed some of the guests might get a little rough in handling him, the hotel discouraged damage to the slaves by charging guests’ credit cards hefty fees if they did any permanent harm. And even the most malicious guests would check out after a few days, tops.

He had to obey orders. But they probably weren’t very complicated orders, and as long as he did what he was supposed to, he probably didn’t get punished. Much.

He got fucked, of course, but even without their libidos enhanced, vampires liked sex, and weren’t generally all that picky about who they had it with. So maybe that wasn’t so bad. Spike certainly had it better than some of the other vamps out there, like the ones that worked deep in mines or the ones that they used as lab rats or for anatomy students to dissect.

Yeah, Xander thought, gazing closely at the vampire Kneeling before him. Maybe he even sort of liked it. Right now, for instance, Xander saw that Spike’s cock was starting to fill under his scrutiny. Xander felt an answering twinge from Lesser Xander and he shifted a little in his seat. Spike stared down at the beige carpet as if it were the most fascinating thing on earth.

Now Spike’s cock was fully erect. Xander knew that vampires weren’t allowed to jerk off without permission. _Well_, he thought, _I could do him sort of a favor, right_?

“Do you want to touch yourself?” he asked.

Spike didn’t look up. “Whatever Master wishes.”

Well, that wasn’t much help. But he didn’t seem upset by the question, and his hard-on hadn’t flagged a bit. Okay, then.

“Grab your cock.”

Without hesitating, Spike wrapped his left hand around his hard member. He didn’t move. But he just stayed like that, still as a statue again.

“Rub it, Spike.”

Spike slowly moved his palm up and down the shaft. He’d closed his eyes, and Xander wondered why. Was he fantasizing about something? Or did he just want to concentrate more on the sensations in his body?

Xander watched the pale hand moving, the foreskin hiding and then revealing the pink crown. He shifted uncomfortably again.

“You can…use both hands if you want. Do whatever feels good.”

Spike opened his eyes and looked at him for a moment. Then he slowly brought his right hand forward and cradled his balls with it. The tip of his cock was glistening with precome, and Spike used his left thumb to spread the liquid around a little. His strokes became a little faster.

This was William the Bloody, this beautiful thing, pleasuring himself at Xander’s feet because Xander told him to.

Xander groaned a little and rubbed a hand against the solid lump that pressed against his own suddenly too-tight pants. The sane portion of his brain warned him at that point that he was wearing his good suit, so Xander quickly unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped, allowing his own dick to poke free through his boxer fly.

Spike’s eyes flickered toward Xander’s crotch and he paused. “Don’t stop,” Xander said hoarsely. Spike resumed his movements, his caresses quicker now, and he was thrusting slightly with his hips. He was panting, too, and Xander thought how odd that was for a creature that didn’t need to breathe at all.

Almost without realizing it, Xander had reached his hand out to his own throbbing member. He fisted himself in sync with Spike, and soon he was panting, too.

Spike’s head had rolled back. Xander liked this—it meant his face was raised, and Xander had a better view of the fluttering eyelashes, of the line of concentration between Spike’s brows, of the full, wet lower lip, which Spike had caught between his teeth.

He looked at the ivory, muscled flanks as they swung rapidly forward and back, at the flat planes of the abdomen, at the hard pink nubs of the nipples, at the heaving chest, and the silvery glint of the collar encircling the delicate neck.

Xander felt his balls draw up against him. With a sound between a gasp and a moan, he orgasmed, squirting his seed onto his blue button-down and coating his hand with the sticky fluid. He slowed his stroking, then stopped.

But Spike was still moving. He was looking at Xander, his pupils huge and his eyes desperate. “Master, p-p-please…,” he stuttered.

“You can come, Spike.”

With a loud groan, Spike did, his milky spend spurting onto the carpet in front of him. He shuddered and stilled, his breaths still harsh and uneven.

“Clean that up, please,” Xander said.

But when Spike immediately bent over and started to lick the floor, Xander shouted, “No!” Spike recoiled and huddled against himself.

“I meant, use a towel,” Xander said gently.

Spike blinked at him for a moment and then scurried on all fours into the bathroom. Xander heard the sink run briefly and then Spike was crawling back, a small white towel clutched in one hand. He cleaned the drops of semen off of the carpet, then Kneeled uncertainly.

“Here, hand me that.” Xander used the towel to wipe off his hand and his penis. “Go throw this back in the bathroom.” He handed the towel back, and, while Spike did as he was told, Xander tucked himself back into his boxers. Then he stood and shucked off his pants.

Spike returned as he was unbuttoning his shirt. “You can, uh, go back to your corner now.”

Spike touched his forehead to the floor, and in a voice so tiny, Xander barely heard it, he said, “Thank you, Master.”

Xander climbed into bed and turned on the tv. He glanced over and saw that Spike was Kneeling. “Release,” he sighed, and watched as Spike collapsed onto his side.

He fell asleep halfway through the evening news.

[Part 1b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/22235.html#cutid1)


	2. October 2014 (part 1b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then Xander has adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are nineteen parts to this story (yes, I know I said 18 earlier. I lied.). I'll post one a day. Some are long and will be in two or three parts. This is a dark fic. It's not as graphic as some of my previous fics, and I do hate spoilery warnings. If you have concerns, PM me and I'll give you a quick rundown. Also, while Spike/Xander is by far the main pairing, there are a few surprises.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 1b**_  
**Chapter Title:** October 2014 (part 1b)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then Xander has adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** There are nineteen parts to this story (yes, I know I said 18 earlier. I lied.). I'll post one a day. Some are long and will be in two or three parts. This is a dark fic. It's not as graphic as some of my previous fics, and I do hate spoilery warnings. If you have concerns, PM me and I'll give you a quick rundown. Also, while Spike/Xander is by far the main pairing, there are a few surprises.   
As always, comments are hugely appreciated!

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!   
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's entry is in two parts!****

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
7.

The vampire tried to watch the telly, but, as always, the flickering images made its head hurt. So it watched Master as he slept, instead.

The vampire did sometimes remember things from Before. Occasionally a particular sound or scent would trigger something, like the Mistress not too long ago whose hand lotion smelled of rosewater, just like the rosewater its sire had once bought. It could picture the little blue bottle perfectly; its pink label had an art nouveau-style drawing of a woman holding a rose, and the cap had a tiny glass rose affixed to it. But it couldn’t recall its sire’s name, or what had happened to her, or even where she’d bought the stuff.

Most of its memories floated by, as insubstantial as clouds and as difficult to capture.

Tonight it had lied to Master, though, and now it shivered slightly, trying not to imagine what punishment would happen to it if its untruth were discovered. It did remember him. Well, not exactly. It remembered a boy, a boy with floppy hair and horrible clothes and a constant stream of wisecracks coming out of his mouth. It remembered being offered that boy as a gift, but that didn’t make any sense, did it? If someone had given the vampire that boy Before, it would certainly have killed him, perhaps even turned him, and then that boy would not have grown up to become Master.

The vampire tried to puzzle this out for a while, but its thoughts were slippery as always, and soon it gave up. It didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered was to obey.

So it watched Master sleep. He was sprawled on his back, his face turned slightly toward the vampire and the edge of the blanket bunched in his fists. His eyes flitted beneath his lids and his mouth hung slightly open. He said something—a few nonsense words the vampire couldn’t understand—and then the words dissolved into a snore. He smelled like earth and wine and fish and sex.

It had been a long time since a Master had allowed the vampire to come. It wasn’t sure how long—its grasp of time was tenuous—but it knew it had spent many, many days and nights servicing its Masters or frozen in various positions, helplessly feeling its needy cock and aching bollocks, heavy between its legs. Now it cautiously stretched its muscles a bit, enjoying the languorous sensation of having been permitted relief. The vampire noted happily as well that no part of its body was in pain—this Master had not yet hurt it, not even once.

The vampire rarely hoped for anything. It only made things worse when those hopes were, inevitably, dashed. But tonight it hoped that Master would stay a little longer.

 

8.

The first thing Xander saw when he opened his eyes was Spike staring at him. That was kind of creepy, actually, but Spike dropped his gaze as soon as he realized Xander was awake.

Xander glanced at the clock. Crap. The alarm would go off in six minutes. He hated when he woke up right before he had to.

With a slight groan he sat up and rubbed his face with his hands. Then he stumbled off to the bathroom. He emerged twenty minutes later, showered and shaved, and, muttering a complaint under his breath, put on a suit and tie.

He glanced at Spike, curled in the corner. “Wish I could lie around all day instead of sitting in that fucking conference room,” he grumbled. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his portfolio full of papers, and left.

As it happened, today wasn’t so bad. Davidson wasn’t there—apparently last night’s shellfish hadn’t agreed with him too well—and that helped a lot. Chavez from the LA office _was_ there, and though the guy was pretty irredeemably straight, that didn’t stop Xander from enjoying the view. They actually got to go out to lunch today, instead of being stuck with those shitty sandwiches again, and the place they went to had a really decent burger. Then they spent the afternoon talking about some of the site specifications, and this was Xander’s purview, so he lead most of the discussion.

They went late and ordered in pizza to eat while they worked.

It was past nine when Xander finally returned to the hotel. There was Spike, Presenting again. Did the maid put him in this position? Did he stay that way all day until the guest returned to the room? What if the room was vacant that night?

Xander Released Spike and then changed to his workout clothes. He spent another hour in the fitness center. Now that he’d hit his mid-thirties and spent his days behind a desk he had to work out longer to maintain his trim waist and solid muscles. He supposed someday soon he might have to consider cutting back on the beer and junk food, too.

When he returned to the room he stripped and took a quick shower, then slipped into the hotel’s fluffy white robe. Spike was watching him out of the corner of his eyes. Xander answered his email again—there was some sort of fuck-up going on back home on that Loomis Tower job, and he was going to have a hell of a mess to clean up when he got back to the office—and another from Beth, the ex-wife who still spoke to him. She was ex-wife number two, and she’d been amazingly cool over the whole gay thing. She’d remarried a couple years ago, and now she was emailing him to let him know she was expecting a baby in April. Good for her. She’d make a good mom.

When he shut down the computer, he caught Spike looking at him again. He took a long look at Spike’s beautiful body and considered a repeat of last night, but then decided he was too damn tired. He took off the robe, climbed into bed, turned out the light, and went to sleep.

 

9.

It was the last day of the meetings, thank God. Davidson was back, stupid as ever, and it seemed like they had to spend half the morning catching him up on everything he’d missed the day before. Then one of the lawyers came by, and Xander had to fight to stay awake as she buried them ass-deep in legalese.

Still, everything was coming together pretty well. Xander had a good feeling that this project was going to turn out. Maybe…maybe he’d sell the condo and buy a bigger one. Not that he really needed more room—it was just him, after all—but it might be nice to set up an exercise room of his own. Or maybe he’d get something with a view. Yeah, a view would be nice.

They went out to dinner together, and this time it was good steaks and pitchers of beer. Again, Xander drove back to the hotel a little wasted, and he promised himself it was the last time.

And there, of course, was Spike.

Xander took off his jacket and pants and tie and sat on the edge of the bed in his boxers with his shirt unbuttoned.

“Come here,” he said, and Spike crawled the few feet over like a fucking puppy dog. So much like a dog, in fact, that Xander did something he’d been tempted to for a while: he reached out and petted the smooth skin on Spike’s skull. And Spike leaned slightly into the caress.

Xander cupped the vampire’s chin and tipped his face up. “What do you want, Spike?”

The answer was immediate: “To please Master.”

Of course. Xander sighed.

Spike’s eyes were clear and guileless. If you could ignore the body temperature and lack of pulse, he didn’t resemble a vampire at all. Nothing demonic about him, now. Not like before—Xander remembered him in the school hallway, in the chemistry classroom, in the old factory. That was a predator. This was…a slave.

Maybe he should let Spike enjoy himself a little while he could.

“Get up on the bed, Spike.”

Spike instantly scrambled up, positioning himself on hands and knees, with that perfect ass towards Xander.

“No. On your back.”

Spike flipped over. He raised his legs and spread his knees, hooking his arms underneath and offering himself completely. His face was smooth and expressionless, but his cock was at half-mast.

Xander wanted to ask him whether he liked this, whether he wanted it. But what was the point? He’d only say he wanted whatever Master wanted.

Xander scooted over a bit and, almost hesitantly, placed his hand inside of Spike’s right thigh. His skin was cool and smooth, the muscle underneath taut and clearly defined. Xander rubbed a little, and Spike didn’t move at all, but he was now fully hard. “Does that feel good?” Xander whispered.

“Yes, Master.”

Xander’s hand continued to trace along the silky skin. Spike swallowed audibly. Xander let his hand stray a little higher, and now it ran along the crease between Spike’s leg and body. A tremor ran through Spike and Xander smoothed it away as if the vampire were a nervous pony.

Xander crept his hand to the side and cradled Spike’s balls. Spike hissed a little and tensed. Xander gently rolled the flesh in his palm. He liked the hairlessness of it, the combination of hardness and petal softness. Spike’s cock pulsed and leaked a drop of precome.

“Want me to stop?”

Spike blinked at him. “If…if it pleases you, Master.”

It didn’t please him to stop, so instead he delicately took Spike’s cock into his hand and stroked it a few times. When he let go, Spike moaned. But now his attention was on Spike’s sphincter, and Xander lightly traced around it with his finger, making Spike hiss again.

“Oh, shit. Lube.” Xander looked around the room. There must be something….

“M-Master?” Spike’s voice was tentative.

“Yeah?”

“In…in the cupboard there, Master.” Spike gestured with his head toward the bedside table. Xander hadn’t bothered to investigate the cabinet there, but now he slid off the bed and opened the door. Several small bottles of lubricant were arrayed on the top shelf. Underneath was an assortment of plugs, vibrators, and other toys. Sort of an x-rated honor bar, he supposed. He grabbed one of the bottles, wondering how much it was going to cost him, and reminding himself to make sure that particular charge wasn’t itemized on the bill. He’d hate to have to explain that one to Accounting.

He climbed back on the bed, kneeling between Spike’s legs. Spike hadn’t moved, of course. Xander opened the tube and squeezed a little of the goo onto his finger. He slid the slicked digit into Spike. Spike’s breath caught and his back bowed slightly.

“Does that hurt?”

“No, Master.”

Xander slowly moved his finger, watching as each movement caused Spike’s cock to twitch. It was weeping freely now. Xander added a second finger.

“You’re really tight.” He wondered if Spike had been turned a virgin. It was one of the great advantages of vampires as sex toys—use them all you wanted, and they’d quickly repair themselves as if they’d never been touched.

Spike didn’t answer. He just writhed a little on the bed. His eyes were squeezed shut. He opened them, though, when Xander withdrew his fingers.

Xander slid his shirt off and let it fall on the floor. He wiggled out of his boxers, and they joined the discarded shirt. Spike was watching, his eyes wide. Xander couldn’t tell whether from fear or lust. He stretched out his hand and slowly trailed it down Spike’s cool chest and abdomen. Spike arched into it and now he reminded Xander more of a cat than a dog.

“Put your legs down.” When Spike complied, Xander’s hand wandered up and down his smooth flank, over his hipbone, across his hairless belly, then up to his chest. Tenderly, Xander ran his palm over Spike’s nipples, then he flicked the hard little pebbles with his thumb. Spike arched again, and Xander wondered if he’d always been this responsive, or if it was a result of the training and whatever the fuck else they’d done to him.

Now he lightly stroked his index finger along Spike’s bottom lip. Spike let his mouth open a bit and Xander inserted the finger. When Spike instantly started suckling on it, looking at Xander through half-closed lids, Xander’s cock jerked demandingly and he groaned. It occurred to Xander that sticking a body part into a vampire’s mouth would once have been a very foolhardy act. After a moment, he removed his finger and used it to trace Spike’s cheekbones instead.

Xander climbed onto the bed next to Spike. He piled a bunch of pillows and rested his upper body against them so that he was almost sitting, his legs stretched in front of him. “Put some lube on me, Spike.”

Spike sat up and took the bottle. He carefully poured some of contents into his palm and then cautiously grasped Xander’s cock. His hand was long and delicate and chill, and after he’d stroked Xander only three or four times, Xander had to grab his wrist to keep from coming right then.

“Wanna ride me?”

“Yes, Master, please.” That answer was predictable, although the please was a nice touch. And he looked like he really meant it, too. His cock was red and dripping, his pupils were dilated, and his breathing was rapid and shallow.

“Climb on board.”

Gracefully, Spike straddled Xander’s lap. With a quick glance for permission, he reached behind himself, clasped Xander’s cock, and sank onto it.

They moaned in unison, and Spike froze, obviously waiting for the next command. Xander took a moment to relish the novel feeling of the cold, tight channel gripping him. Spike’s cock was digging into his stomach and he wondered what it would taste like. Did vampires taste like humans?

“You can put your hands on my shoulders, Spike.” Spike did. Impulsively, Xander leaned forward and licked Spike’s neck, just above the collar and over the carotid. Spike tilted his head to the side and made a small mewling noise. Xander licked him again. His skin tasted less salty than a man’s, but that made sense since vampires didn’t sweat. Spike’s hands clenched his shoulders hard enough to smart a little, and then Spike gasped and winced, immediately releasing his grip. The inhibitor chip.

Xander bent down and latched onto Spike’s left nipple. Spike gasped again and Xander could feel his thigh muscles quivering with tension. Xander pushed his hips upward a little. “You’re going to have to do most of the work,” he said.

Exquisitely slowly, Spike moved up and down. His lip was captured in his teeth again, and he allowed his head to loll back between his shoulders. His eyes were closed. Xander cupped his hands around that muscular ass, but he had to close his own eyes as well, because the dissolute sight before him was just too much.

But soon he couldn’t resist opening them again because he had an idea. “Spike, jerk yourself off.”

Spike looked at him, wide-eyed, and then grabbed his own cock. His motions quickened as he rose and fell, fisting himself and building the delectable friction around Xander’s cock. Xander squeezed Spike’s cheeks hard and watched.

He could feel the tremors in Spike’s body as soon as they began. “M-M-Master….” Spike moaned.

“It’s okay. You can come.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Spike was juddering atop him, his cold seed erupting onto Xander chest, the muscles inside him clenching Xander spasmodically. With a loud cry—“Fuck!!”—Xander came, too.

Spike stilled.

“Clean this up, please,” Xander said, pointing at the mess on his front.

Spike carefully dismounted and leaned forward to cleanse his spend off Xander’s skin with dry, tiny cat licks. It was possibly the most erotic thing Xander had ever experienced, but he was too worn out to do anything about it.

He tapped Spike’s shoulder. “I need to get some sleep,” he said.

Spike started to scramble off the bed, but Xander caught his arm. “You can stay here if you want.”

Spike blinked at him.

“It’s okay. Lie down.”

Stiffly, Spike lay down beside him on his back, his arms folded on his chest like a corpse. Which was appropriate, Xander supposed. Xander pulled the covers up over both of them, set the alarm, and turned off the light.

 

10.

The vampire didn’t remember being permitted to sleep in the bed before. It was soft. And with Master next to it and the blankets over it, it was also deliciously warm.

When Master began to snore, the vampire slowly smoothed its hand over the sheet. It felt so much nicer against its skin than the scratchy carpet. The weight of the blankets was nice, too—the vampire hadn’t recalled the sensation of being covered like this.

It dimly remembered sleeping next to someone before. A vampire—another male. It didn’t think that one had been as gentle with it as Master, though. Not many Masters bothered with the slick, and hardly any of them took the time to prepare it for entry as had this one. Few used it face-to-face, either. For a change, the bit of burn and stretch it felt was just painful enough to be pleasant.

The vampire sighed silently and tried not to fall asleep. It wanted to enjoy these moments of comfort as much as it could.

When the alarm went off in the morning, Master smiled crookedly at the vampire and didn’t make it get out of bed. He went off to shower.

But when he came back, he started stuffing clothes in his suitcase, and the vampire knew what that meant. It swallowed thickly and fought to keep its face neutral. When he was all packed, he threw some money onto the desk and came to the bedside.

“I gotta go, Spike. I guess you can stay in the bed until the maid comes, huh?”

Spike nodded.

“Look—are you…are you okay? I mean, I can’t stay here, you know? But I feel….” Master sighed. “Will you be all right?”

The vampire wanted to say no, it would not be all right. Wanted to tell Master that these last few days had been the highlight of its miserable existence, at least since Before. Wanted to beg Master to stay, or, better yet, to take it with him. It would be good, it would be _perfect_, just please, please don’t leave it here.

But it didn’t say any of that. That was forbidden.

Instead, it simply murmured, “Yes, Master.”

Master frowned at it for a few moments, then sighed deeply. “Goodbye, Spike,” he said. He grabbed his suitcase and left.

The vampire stayed in the bed and waited for the maid to come disinfect it for the next Master to use.

 

[Part 2a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/22313.html#cutid1)


	3. December 2014 (part 2a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then Xander has adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments so far! Today's chapter is the longest in the fic, and is in several parts. Lots of things happen, including the entrance of everybody's favorite evil lawyer.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 2a**_  
**Chapter Title:** December 2014 (part 2a)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then Xander has adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** Thank you for all your comments so far! Today's chapter is the longest in the fic, and is in several parts. Lots of things happen, including the entrance of everybody's favorite evil lawyer.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's entry is in three parts!****

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**December 2014  
**

1.

For the first time since he was a teenager, Xander dreamed of vampires. Of one vampire in particular, actually. Some of the dreams were the old chasing and biting ones, but now there were new ones, which involved more fucking than biting, or sometimes fucking _and_ biting. Which was fine.

It was the other dreams that bothered him.

In some of these dreams, Spike killed him in some horrible way. One version of this particular nightmare had Angel actually handing him over to Spike in the school hallway, then Spike fucking him there in front of Buffy and Willow and Mrs. Summers, before laughing and tearing his head off. An even worse version had Xander fucking Spike, but then Spike became a corpse, a really dead and rotting corpse with maggots in his eyes and flesh falling off with sickening little thuds, and Xander couldn’t withdraw his cock from the putrefying carcass and then he felt the decay begin to spread to his own body.

The daytime version of these nightmares was a nagging little voice in the back of his head, a voice that sometimes sounded like Buffy Summers and sometimes like his mother, but it always said the same thing: “You fucked a _vampire_, you sick son of a bitch.”

That was bad.

Worst of all, though, were the other dreams. In those dreams, it was Spike who was horribly tortured and destroyed. Sometimes at a stranger’s hands, and sometimes at Xander’s own.

The daytime version of _those_ nightmares was a different voice, a little like Willow’s. It said: “You fucked _Spike_ and then left him to remain a slave, you sick son of a bitch.”

Thankfully, work was taking up a lot of his time, and usually it was enough to distract him. When it wasn’t, he’d hit the gym, exercising himself into states of exhaustion. And when that wasn’t enough either, well, there was always the bottle. He took after dear old Dad more than he’d realized, it seemed.

Then there was a colossal shitstorm in LA.

Although Franklin was back from maternity leave, she didn’t really want to travel yet, and Xander’s boss had decided that Xander would remain the point man on the LA project. Besides, it was getting close to Christmas, and everyone else had family stuff to do. Not Xander.

Anyway, he thought philosophically, Kansas City was in the midst of a cold snap and some California sunshine and warmth didn’t sound so bad at all right now.

Xander called the hotel and asked if he could reserve room 1256 for a week. The clerk told him it was already occupied for the next four nights, so they could put him in 1254 first, and then move him to the adjoining room when it was free. He said that was fine, although it really wasn’t. Even though he knew what Spike was, the thought of someone else…using…him set his teeth on edge.

The flight was delayed and he had to run to catch his connection in Denver and his suitcase didn’t make it at all. United promised they’d have a delivery service get him his luggage around midnight. Then he cleared LAX just in time to hit afternoon rush hour. Los Angeles traffic was one thing he definitely did not miss now that he lived in the Midwest. The rental car was a piece of shit, too, and he made a mental note to demand an upgrade next time if he was going to have to spend hours parked on the 405.

So he was in a foul mood by the time he checked in, but he was at least relieved to discover that 1254 was a without room. The last thing he needed was another vampire to deal with.

He dumped off his carryon bag in the room and then headed back to the lobby. He ate some pasta in the restaurant and then spent a while in the bar, watching a Lakers game. Eventually he headed upstairs to wait for his suitcase.

 

2.

The problem turned out to be even bigger than he’d feared. It was a multi-pronged problem, really, involving environmentalists, some unexpected Indian artifacts, and the LA County Department of Regional Planning. Naturally, there were lots of lawyers involved, which always made him itchy.

He drank five venti lattes and he was more than a little buzzed by the time he returned to the hotel.

He glanced at the door to room 1256 as he walked by, but there was no sign of what was inside. Really, he wasn’t even sure if they necessarily kept the vampires in the same rooms. Maybe Spike was somewhere else entirely.

Xander spent a long time in the fitness center. He’d brought his swim trunks this time, so after he’d worn himself out on the treadmill he headed for the pool and swam laps. He could still never get in the water without at least a momentary thought about the Sunnydale swim team. When his arms and legs felt heavy and sore, he switched to the Jacuzzi. He sat there for ages, half-asleep and ignoring the other occupants, a middle-aged couple from New Jersey who were arguing quietly about refinancing their house.

Finally, he pulled himself out of the water and dragged himself to the elevator, down the hallways, and to his room. He threw his wet bathing suit into the tub and lay down naked on the bed, carefully thinking about nothing.

 

3.

He was allergic to attorneys. He felt like he might be developing hives, and his tie kept getting tighter and tighter around his neck all day, like a very slow boa constrictor. His only consolation was that that moron Davidson wasn’t there this time. Which was good, because Xander wasn’t sure he could have got through the day without throttling the guy.

It was a long, long day. They ordered in sandwiches for lunch and sushi for dinner, and by the time Xander got back to his room it was nearly 10 pm and he was ready to drop.

He stripped and drew himself a bath. He flicked the tv on and sat soaking and staring at sitcoms. After he got out of the tub he thought he’d fall right asleep, but instead he spent nearly an hour tossing and turning. He was too tired to sleep, apparently, so he crawled out of bed and started up his laptop.

There was an email from Beth again. She was having twins. Xander sighed, thinking about a life he could have had. It wasn’t just that he was gay—lots of gay people settled down, quite a few even had kids. But that wasn’t going to happen for him. The truth was, whether it was Beth, or his first wife, Stacey, or any other relationship he’d had, there was just something missing. With Stacey and Beth, he’d assumed that what was missing was a penis. But then there’d been a string of men, a few of whom he’d even dated for a while, but the connection wasn’t there with them, either.

He’d come to accept that whatever was missing, it was something in him. Like he didn’t have a soul or something. Or worse, because Spike didn’t have a soul, and he and Drusilla were together for, like, a hundred years.

Drusilla. For the first time, Xander wondered whatever became of her. And that led to the obvious next question, which was what happened to Angel. Did his own soul save him from the Initiative? Probably not—it didn’t do Oz any good, did it?

He knew Oz was dead. He and Willow had tried for a while to get him out, but got nowhere. They did discover that the government was experimenting on were-creatures, and that the ultimate fate of them and most demons was death. It was mostly vampires that were spared for slavery, partly because they looked so human, and partly because their maintenance was very easy.

Maybe Angel and Drusilla had escaped. There were still wild vamps in Africa and some parts of Asia. Maybe Buffy helped Angel, at least. But then Xander remembered the cold look in her eyes when she’d refused to rescue Oz, and he figured probably not.

As his mind was replaying these events that had happened nearly half a lifetime ago, Xander realized he was hearing a faint noise. He concentrated. The noise was coming from next door, from 1256. Grunting and slapping. And was that a moan?

He moved as close to the shared wall as he could, straining his ears. Yes, definitely a moan.

Christ, was that Spike?

And if it was, what kind of a moan was it? Was Spike in pain? Or was he merely enjoying getting fucked?

Xander wanted to ram his head through the wall.

Instead, he shut down his computer, climbed into bed, and pulled a pillow over his head.

 

4.

This was a better day—at least there seemed to be some chance of resolution. The Indian artifacts just needed to be dug up by some archeologists and tribal leaders. They had turned out not to be very extensive, so that could be done relatively quickly. Everyone was very thankful that it had just been a bunch of pots and things, and not a burial ground. That could have tied them up for years.

The environmentalists were a little more difficult. But they seemed close to a compromise involving reducing the building’s footprint a little, changing to some greener alternatives in building materials, and setting aside a nearby parcel with a conservation easement.

As for the Planning Department, well, they were still being really fucking stubborn. But some of the guys in the LA office knew some people who knew some people, and there was at least some hope of making some headway there soon.

Not only that, but Xander had spoken with his boss this afternoon, and his boss promised him that if this project panned out successfully, the bonus and the promotion would be his. He thought of all the ways he could spend the extra money. A motorcycle. Yeah, a bike would be nice, and then he’d have an excuse to wear all that sexy leather without feeling like an ass. A trip to Vegas, maybe. Season tickets for the Chiefs. A really fancy home entertainment system, with one of those televisions big enough to see from fucking Mars. The complete DVD or Blueray sets of _Star Wars, Babylon 5, Battlestar Galactica, _and all the _Star Treks_.

Xander picked up some Thai food and took it back to the hotel with him. He sat at the desk and ate a green papaya salad and red curry over jasmine rice while watching tv. When he was done, he thought about going out to a club or a bar or something, but decided he didn’t really feel like it. He read over some of his work documents instead, and then settled in on the bed to channel surf.

He was halfway through an old James Bond movie—this one was Daniel Craig; not his favorite Bond, but he’d do—when he heard the sound. At first he thought it was his neighbor’s television, but that wasn’t right. He turned down the volume on his own tv and listened.

It was a highly muffled scream, and it was repeated over and over.

Jesus Christ, that had to be Spike.

Xander hopped out of bed and put his ear against the wall again. There was nothing much to hear, though. Mostly silence, punctuated by an occasional dull thud, and then that stifled yell, as if the injured person was gagged, or had his face stuffed into a pillow.

Xander leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. What the hell was he supposed to do about this? After all, whoever was next door and whatever he was doing to Spike, the vampire was his until tomorrow. Xander could complain to the front desk about the noise, but they weren’t really being that loud. And whoever it was could continue doing whatever he was doing, only more quietly. None of the ways Xander could think of to silence a tormented vampire were good for the vampire.

There was a particularly loud thunk and then, oh fuck, was that sobbing? Was Spike _crying_?

Xander threw on his jeans and a t-shirt and slammed out of his room. He jogged by the door to 1256, which looked as blank and innocuous as ever, and headed to the elevator. Downstairs, he went to the bar and proceeded to get very wasted.

The alcohol—and he was drinking bourbon straight now, no fucking around with beer tonight—didn’t shut up the harrying voices in his head. The one that called him a ridiculous twit for giving a shit about what happened to a goddamned vampire. The one that said he was a traitorous asshole for forcing Spike to have sex with him and then abandoning him to his fate. The one that screamed at him that he was a skulking coward for doing nothing but throwing back shots while Spike was upstairs being brutalized. And the other one—his oldest pal—that reminded him that despite the fancy suits he wore nowadays, he was still really nothing but a worthless piece of shit. And now he was turning into a worthless drunk piece of shit.

The bartender didn’t seem to mind bringing him one drink after another, probably because Xander was just sitting there quietly, not bothering anyone, the racket in his skull audible only to him. And the guy likely figured Xander wasn’t going to be driving anywhere tonight anyway, so what the hell. Eventually, though, the bar had to close. Xander smiled blearily and left him a $50 tip before stumbling back upstairs to his room. Mercifully, the room next door was quiet.

Xander didn’t so much fall asleep as pass out.

 

5.

Master had removed the hood from the vampire when he first arrived. He’d looked at the vampire’s face with a skeptical eye, called it an ugly bitch, and then rolled the specially-treated latex back down over the vampire’s eyes and ears. So the vampire had been blind and deaf for—for however long Master had been here. Days.

Master had left the vampire’s mouth uncovered, however. The gag was still in, but Master took it out occasionally so he could fuck the vampire’s face. For several days, that’s all he did, and though the vampire hated being deprived of its senses for so long, it was at least relieved to be mostly left alone.

As it had been doing for some time, the vampire spent its sightless, soundless hours thinking about that other Master. The kind one. It discovered that if it concentrated very hard, it could dredge up bits and pieces of memories that seemed to be related to him.

There was a girl, a tiny thing who was nonetheless terribly strong, and who had fought the vampire, more than once, it thought. But then it also remembered that same girl looking at it with pitiless eyes as it writhed and screamed in the Bad Place. Oh, and it did _not_ want to remember the Bad Place.

There was another girl, too, wasn’t there? Red hair. Something about a spell. And—oh, Master was there. Master as a boy. He was hurt. The vampire had hurt him. Was this when he had been given to the vampire? What saved him? Why was he so kind now?

And connected to all of this were recollections of its sire, who was beautiful and strange. And of another vampire, the one it had shared a bed with, but now that vampire was trying to kill it, or it was trying to kill that vampire. It wasn’t sure.

The vampire was still trying, unsuccessfully, to piece these bits together into some meaningful whole when it felt heavy footsteps approaching. With no warning at all, a large shoe kicked it hard in the back of its bollocks, causing it to collapse, to break out of Present position without permission. It knew it would be punished for that, and, sure enough, it was quickly flipped onto its back and then the shoe was pressing hard on its genitals; Master was putting all his weight into his foot and the vampire tried desperately not to move, not to curl into a protective ball, because that would only make the penalty worse.

After a while, Master lifted his foot. He grabbed the vampire’s arm and hauled it to its feet, then dragged it a few steps across the floor. He pushed it face down onto the bed, its feet still on the floor, then manhandled it until it was in a modified Present, its legs spread wide and its arse raised for Master’s use.

Master grabbed the vampire’s hands and slapped them onto its own arse cheeks, making it clear that the vampire was to spread its buttocks. As soon as it did, Master slammed something long and wide and hard into the vampire’s hole. The vampire moaned with pain as the thing—a large dildo, maybe, or perhaps something else; a recent Master had used a walking stick, and it had felt something like this—tore into its tender, unprepared skin. Master rocked the object in and out, and it hurt a little less when the vampire’s blood provided some lubrication. But then Master started shoving the thing in hard, and slapping the vampire’s arse and back with every stroke, and the vampire couldn’t help grunting and moaning.

Eventually, Master dragged the vampire back off the bed and left it face down in the corner, the object still lodged inside it.

When the maid came in, the vampire felt her running the vacuum cleaner; sometimes the vacuum even gently came up against its body. Because of the position Master had left it, she couldn’t clean it very well. She merely ran the cloth quickly over its back and buttocks. And she couldn’t feed it, either, as its feeding port was inaccessible.

By the time Master returned, its muscles were terribly cramped, its abused rectum was sore, and its stomach was empty and aching.

But it was soon to wish for those relatively minor miseries, because Master spent the next several hours—or maybe it was days; the vampire couldn’t tell—inflicting pain on it.

The vampire understood why Masters used its mouth and arse. That’s what it was for, wasn’t it? And they’d get off on it and then go about their lives. But it couldn’t understand why some of them, like this one, seemed to get so much enjoyment out of hurting it. Not even fucking it. Just making it…suffer.

Isn’t that what demons were supposed to do—not humans?

This Master hit and kicked the vampire, and buggered it with a variety of objects, and broke its fingers, one by one. The vampire tried not to move, tried not to make any sounds. Tried to think about the kind Master. Tried to just turn off its mind and go away. But the agony became worse and worse, as Master deliberately jammed broken ribs against lungs that couldn’t fill and stabbed the vampire’s chest and belly over and over with something small and sharp—a pen, probably—and stomped on its masked face. It would have begged if it could have spoken, but all it could do was scream into its gag and try vainly to crawl away.

There came a moment when the vampire realized that this was never going to stop. It would never see the kind Master—or any kind Master—again, but would instead spend the rest of its wretched existence being tortured for others’ amusement.

And that’s when its screams became a keening wail, and when cold, salty tears pooled under the rubber hood.

 

6.

Xander woke up much earlier than he wanted to, his head spinning and his stomach in knots. He lurched to the bathroom and puked into the toilet, and then he felt a little better. He splashed his face with cold water, brushed his teeth, and wondered what the fuck he was going to do.

He stared at the wall he shared with 1256 as if an answer would magically appear there.

None did.

One thing was clear, though—he wasn’t going to be able to function at work today. So he made a couple of phone calls, pleading illness, and promised he’d make up for it tomorrow. It was fine. It’d give the lawyers a day to frolic in legal dreamland before they all had to turn to reality tomorrow.

Xander was still wearing yesterday’s jeans and t-shirt. He decided a shower might help, and by the time he was dried and dressed again, he felt better and he had a plan. Of sorts.

This plan required some stealth.

First, he packed up all his belongings. Then he moved one of the chairs as close to his door as he could get it, plopped his laptop in his lap so he could work while he waited, and listened carefully.

In about 45 minutes, he was rewarded with the sounds of the adjacent door opening. He jumped up and opened his own door and peeked down the hall, just in time to see a tall, wide, balding man in khakis and a sports jacket ambling away, wheeled suitcase in tow.

Xander wished he could have seen the son of a bitch’s face. What did a man who liked to torment helpless creatures look like? Sure, Spike was a vampire, but helpless nonetheless. But Xander didn’t want to make a scene. He just wanted the guy to get the hell out of here, so he remained silent.

When the guy disappeared around the corner, Xander shut his door and waited some more. It was hard to do, knowing Spike was possibly just a few yards away, unattended and maybe injured. But he waited.

Nearly an hour later, he heard the maid singing softly to herself as she pushed her cart down the hall. Then he heard her enter the room next door.

He stood, took a quick look in the bathroom mirror to ensure he didn’t look especially crazy, and pulled his door open again. He took the three steps down the hallway and slipped in through the open door of 1256.

The maid was standing in the middle of the room, looking down at the floor and shaking her head. She whirled when she heard Xander enter, and he tried to smile reassuringly, carefully ignoring the object at her feet.

“Uh, hi,” he said.

“Señor, no puede entrar aquí, por favor.”

“Uh, that is my room,” Xander said, pointed at the wall that adjoined 1254. “I’m going to change to this room today?”

The maid nodded.

“Could I move my suitcase over now?”

She looked at him blankly.

“Uh, puedo mover mi, uh, suitcase aquí ahora, por favor?” Fuck. Why the hell did he take French in high school? Not that he could speak that either.

But she must have understood, because she nodded and said, “Sí, señor, puede.”

“Thanks, um, gracias!”

Still not looking toward the floor, he trotted next door, grabbed his luggage, and dragged it on over. The maid smiled at him as he dumped it near the door.

She was still looking down. “Es difícil quitar la sangre,” she said.

Sangre. He knew that word. It meant blood.

And that made sense, because there was quite a bit of it staining the carpet.

And in the center of the stains was a vampire.

Most of the vampire’s face was obscured by the hood. But Xander recognized him anyway. After all, he’d spent a week looking at that body, hadn’t he? Touching it.

The vampire was on his back, his arms splayed out, his legs widely spread. A lot of the blood was between those legs, although a good bit of it was smeared on his thighs as well. More of the blood had dripped from the dozens of small holes on his chest and abdomen. His fingers were twisted like nests of broken twigs. It hurt just to look at them. Most of his body, at least what was visible under the dried gore, bloomed purple with bruises.

He wasn’t moving, wasn’t even breathing. If he were human, Xander would have assumed he was dead, and he had to remind himself that Spike would be dust now if he were…destroyed.

Oh, but he was so very broken.

Xander knelt beside Spike, not touching him, not sure if there was any place he could touch him without hurting him. In the meantime, the maid had picked up the phone and was speaking rapidly into it in Spanish.

Xander was still kneeling several minutes later when two men entered the room. One of them he’d met before: Raul Contreras, one of the hotel managers. The other was dressed in work pants and a polo shirt with the hotel’s logo. He had a tool belt around his hips and was probably some sort of maintenance guy.

“Mr. Harris, I’m so sorry about this! I know you specifically requested this room.” Contreras was young, maybe thirty, and every single hair on his head was combed carefully into place. “We’ll have the carpet cleaned immediately, and we’ll have a replacement slave brought up by this evening.”

Xander stood. “I don’t want a replacement. I want Sp—I want this one.”

“Yes, I understand, sir. But as you can see, this one has been badly damaged, and it will take several days to get it repaired. I’m sure we can find you another one that will please you.”

Xander fought to control his temper. “I know…. Look, I want him even if he’s damaged, okay? It’s fine.”

Contreras and the other man exchanged glances. “Mr. Harris, I don’t think you’ll be able to get much use out of this one, and, frankly, I’m concerned that it will expire if it’s not handled, er, delicately right now.”

Xander counted to five in his head. “I’m not going to hurt him. I just…look, I don’t really want to explain, okay? Just let him stay here, and I promise not to dust him. If I do, you can charge me the full replacement cost, okay?”

Once again, the men exchanged looks. Clearly, they thought Xander had a few screws loose. But he was a paying customer, so….

“All right, sir. Perhaps…perhaps we could take it to 1254 and you could remain there for the rest of your stay with us. That would give us the chance to attend to this room more thoroughly.”

Xander wanted to sag with relief, but instead he said, “Fine, fine. I don’t care which room, really.”

“Excellent. Can I help you with your luggage?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

Xander picked up his bags.

“Would you like us to clean it before we deliver it to your room?”

“No, um, that’s okay. But, uh, he needs food, doesn’t he?”

“We’ll make sure it’s fed.”

“Okay. And could you tell her she doesn’t need to clean my room today? Just give me some extra towels.”

Contreras spoke to the maid for a moment and she nodded. Xander followed her with his suitcase as she walked out the door. She grabbed a handful of towels from her cart, and smiling at him, carried them into his bathroom.

“Traeremos el vampiro pronto,” she said. He only understood the vampiro pronto part, but he figured he got the gist of it. He nodded and thanked her.

It was nearly half an hour before they carried Spike into his room. Xander spent the time pacing anxiously, asking himself what the hell he was going to do. Finally, the maintenance man and another guy, similarly dressed, brought him in. One guy had his shoulders and the other guy his feet. He lolled limply between them, perhaps unconscious.

“Where do you want it?”

“The bed, please.”

They scowled a little at this but dumped him onto the unmade bed, then they left.

Xander stared down at Spike. The small parts of him that weren’t covered in blood or bruises were nearly as white as the sheet he lay on.

Fuck.

Xander began by removing the gag. Then he slowly peeled off the hood. When the rest of Spike’s face was revealed, Xander hissed. Spike’s face was as bruised as the rest of him. His nose looked broken and his eyes were so swollen Xander wasn’t sure he’d be able to open them.

With a shake of his head, Xander went to the bathroom, where he dampened several towels. He brought them back to the bed and as gently as he could, cleansed Spike’s body. He cringed at the damage to Spike’s cock and balls—they were badly distended and misshapen—and did his best not to cause any further injuries. Spike was breathing again, shallowly, but that was the only sign of, well, life, he’d shown.

Very gingerly, he rolled Spike onto his stomach, and what he saw then made him close his eyes and bite his lip. Spike’s back was covered in bloody welts. Xander knew exactly what caused those sorts of marks: a belt, wielded by a practiced hand. Spike’s buttocks were tattered, too, and almost black from bruising. But the worst of all was the area between his legs. His anus was distended and badly torn. He’d been fucked by something a lot bigger than someone’s dick.

When Spike was clean, Xander repositioned him on his back again. Then he considered his fingers. After several long minutes of doubt, he picked up one hand and pulled at each broken finger, straightening the shattered bones as best as he could. He was very grateful then that Spike was unconscious, because otherwise this would have hurt like hell.

At last, he’d done about all he could for the vampire. He still wasn’t dust, and he supposed that was good, anyway.

Then he had an idea.

He patted Spike’s shoulder, not having any idea whether Spike could hear him. “Hey,” he said. “I need to go get something, okay? I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

 

7.

The vampire came to very gradually.

It didn’t want to. It fought consciousness, trying to drag itself back into those lovely black depths of nothingness. But something was pulling it upward, something important, it was….

Blood.

The taste of blood in its mouth.

Not its own, but _food_, real food.

It shivered a little, whimpered, and tried to open its eyes.

“Hey, stay still, Spike. You’re going to spill. Just swallow, okay?”

The vampire obeyed automatically, but its mind was racing. That voice. It sounded like…like the kind Master. No, this must be some kind of trick.

But the blood was trickling into its mouth. It was cow’s blood, it realized. Not human, but still so, so good. And it kept flowing slowly in, and the vampire kept swallowing, and eventually it was able to lift its lids enough to see the Master sitting at its side, spooning the blood between its open lips. It was…oh, it really was him. The kind Master.

“Hi, Spike. Remember me? Xander Harris?”

Spike nodded a tiny nod.

“I’m going to stay for a couple more days, okay? Stay here with you.”

The vampire closed its eyes again and took three deep breaths. But it did a quick mental survey of its body, and knew that Master wouldn’t be able to use it for some time. And when Master found that out, he was going to send the vampire away and get one in working order.

The vampire decided to enjoy this as long as it lasted, then.

“Are you comfortable? Do you want another pillow?”

The vampire blinked at him. It didn’t know how to answer this question, and it didn’t think it could bear being punished again right now. So it tried for the most neutral answer it could think of.

“Thank you, Master.” Its voice was raspy.

“Okay. Look, I have some work to do. I’m going to be right over here at the desk if you need anything, all right?”

“Yes, Master.”

Only when Master walked away did the vampire look around a bit, and that’s when it noticed it was no longer in its usual room. Its breath hitched with surprise. It hadn’t been out of that room in…maybe in years. And although this room was almost identical, aside from being a mirror image of the other, it was a huge novelty to be somewhere different.

It was on the bed again, comfortably arranged, and the covers were pulled up to its chin. With the real blood in its system, it was healing faster than it usually did. It could feel its broken bones knitting together and the holes and lacerations growing new skin. It was a little tickly, and the vampire twitched, but the pain was fading away quickly, and that was wonderful.

Perhaps Master would be able to use it after all, it thought.

After a while, Master came over and fed it more blood. It was able to drink from a plastic cup now, although Master had to hold it for it because of its mangled fingers. When its stomach was pleasantly full, Master put the cup down and rested his hand on Spike’s chest.

“Spike,” he said. “I’m really sorry. I’m sorry that fucker hurt you so bad.”

Again, it didn’t know how to reply, so again it said. “Thank you, Master.”

Master shook his head. “I need to get some dinner. You’ll be all right here for a little while, won’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

Master was gone for a while. When he returned he smelled of meat and onions. It was not an unpleasant scent. Master fed the vampire yet more blood, then spent some more time at the desk. Finally he stood, stretched, and yawned. “Time to turn in,” he said. He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled off his shirt, then crawled into bed next to Spike in his boxers.

The vampire tensed, not knowing how it was going to be able to serve Master. But Master simply turned off the light. “’Night,” he mumbled, and promptly fell asleep.

 

8.

Once again Xander awoke to find Spike staring at him. Spike quickly lowered his gaze, but Xander reached over and lightly squeezed his shoulder.

“How are you feeling today, Spike?”

“Better, Master, thank you. I…I’ll be ready for you to use very soon, Master.” Spike looked anxious as he said this.

Xander frowned. “That’s…that’s fine.” He sat up and stretched, then rose out of the bed.

“I have to go to work today. You stay in bed and heal, okay?”

“Yes, Master.”

Xander showered and put on a suit, but before he left he sat on the edge of the bed and fed Spike some more blood. That had to be better for him than that artificial shit they usually gave him. And that thought had Xander reaching for the pad of paper next to the bed. He scribbled a quick note to the maid:

_Por favor no sangre por el vampiro._

He hoped she’d understand what he meant. He propped the note next to Spike and looked around the room doubtfully.

“Is there anything else you need before I go?”

“No, Master.”

“Want me to leave the tv on for you?”

Spike blinked at him. “N-no, thank you, Master.”

“Really? You don’t want to watch tv?”

Spike’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Hurts—hurts my head, Master.”

Xander frowned at him again. Why would it hurt—well, whatever. He had to go. The lawyers were waiting. He squeezed Spike’s shoulder again and left.

Everybody was seated around the conference table when he got there, looking grim. Just when the other problems looked to be on the verge of going away, a new one had cropped up. One of the attorneys, a short woman in a scarlet blouse, tried to explain. Although the title for the project site had already been researched and cleared, suddenly a man had appeared with an obscure but potentially legitimate claim on the property. Not only that, but he was represented by a notoriously relentless law firm.

Xander fought the urge to bury his head in his arms. Why couldn’t something go right for a change?

“Have you talked to this guy’s lawyers yet?”

The woman—her name was Kaur, he remembered—shook her head. “Wolfram &amp; Hart like to make you sweat for a while. They’ll just throw a bunch of papers our way and probably won’t actually speak to us for weeks.”

Christ. “Well, do we know what this guy wants?”

She shook her head. “Right now, he’s just filed a preliminary injunction. We don’t know if he wants money, and if so, how much, or maybe he’s looking for something else.”

“So now, what? We just sit around with our fingers up our asses and wait for them to make another move?”

“That’s pretty much it, I’m afraid.”

He wanted to throw a tantrum, but that wasn’t going to do any good. Instead, he called up his boss and had a long, unpleasant conversation. The upshot was that he had to remain in LA for another week and a half. His boss offered to let him upgrade to a different hotel, maybe one with a kitchen suite, but Xander demurred. At least he’d stick around long enough to get Spike patched up.

Xander picked up some dinner on the way back to the hotel. He stopped at the desk on the way up and booked the room for more nights. Luckily, it was still available. From the slightly nervous looks the desk clerk gave him, Xander supposed that word about his odd behavior had got out. Well, whatever. He wasn’t the one who made the bloody mess.

Spike was right where he’d left him, but the bruises and swelling on his face were noticeably better. Xander dumped his papers on the desk, shrugged off his jacket, and sat down at the little table to eat. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Better, Master.”

“Did they feed you?”

“No, Master.”

“Good. I’ll get you some blood in a minute. You are hungry, right?”

“Yes, Master.”

Xander took a last bite of his burger and stood, wiping the crumbs off of his lap. He changed into his swim trunks and a red t-shirt, then he got some blood out of the minifridge. He was going to have to get more tomorrow if he intended to keep feeding Spike like this.

As Spike drank, Xander pulled back the sheet and examined his injuries. The purple and yellow contusions had faded already, and Xander noticed that Spike’s breaths seemed stronger. They’d lost the slight whistling quality they had had the previous day. His fingers were still useless and his balls were still painful-looking, though. He helped Spike sit up, and saw that the marks on his back were still pretty vivid. Xander wondered what kind of shape Spike’s rectum was in, but didn’t inspect it right now.

Spike drank about a pint of the cow’s blood, and Xander put the remainder back in the fridge. “I’m going to go for a swim. I’ll be back soon.”

Spike nodded and Xander left.

As he headed for the pool, he passed Contreras in the hallway. “Mr. Harris, hello. Is the vampire working out to your satisfaction? We’d still be happy to supply a replacement.”

“No, he’s fine, thanks. Not dusted or anything.”

“Very good. If there’s anything else I can help you with, please let me know.”

Xander nodded and went on his way. He spent a long time doing laps and then sitting in the Jacuzzi, trying not to think about lawyers, vampires, or other parasites.

Spike looked to be dozing when he returned. Xander tossed his trunks into the bathroom and pulled on a pair of worn flannel pants. Spike blinked sleepily at him as Xander collapsed onto the bed.

“I’m gonna watch the tube for a while. Can you just close your eyes or something?”

“Yes, Master.”

Xander sighed and switched on the set. There wasn’t much on, actually. _Law &amp; Order_. Some stupid doctor show. _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Shit, Thursday was Christmas and he was going to spend it holed up in LA with a vampire. Well, not like he had other plans anyway. Usually he just stayed home and followed the family tradition of getting totally shitfaced. Of course, with nobody else around, he couldn’t follow the rest of the holiday ritual of throwing things at people and getting into fistfights.

He turned his head and saw that Spike was gazing at him again. “What?”

Spike looked alarmed. “Sorry, Master.”

“It’s fine. But why do you keep looking at me like that? Wondering what I taste like?”

Now Spike appeared completely dismayed. He shook his head quickly. “No! No, Master! I—“

“It’s okay. I was just joking. But you have been…staring.”

“I-I just….” Spike swallowed. “Sunnydale.”

Xander turned to him. “You remember?”

“Not…. A bit, Master. We were in Sunnydale, and….”

“And you tried to kill me and my friends.”

Spike bowed his head and trembled. “Sorry, Master,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well, it’s what vampires do. Did.”

“But…but you don’t hate me, Master?” Spike’s eyes were wide blue pools.

“I hate vampires.” Spike looked away. “But no, I guess I don’t hate you.”

Spike looked like he had more questions on his mind, but suddenly Xander didn’t feel like answering them. Didn’t feel like talking at all, actually. He switched off the tv, rolled on his side, and tried to sleep.

 

9.

The vampire’s inadequate brain couldn’t take all this in. It remembered a feeling it had near Master, when Master was a boy. A feeling of power, of savage glee. Like anything it saw that it wanted could belong to it. It just had to take. This was not how a slave should feel. This was dangerous.

[Part 2b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/22668.html#cutid1)


	4. December 2014 (part 2b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments so far! Today's chapter is the longest in the fic, and is in several parts. Lots of things happen, including the entrance of everybody's favorite evil lawyer.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 2b**_  
**Chapter Title:** December 2014 (part 2b)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** Thank you for all your comments so far! Today's chapter is the longest in the fic, and is in several parts. Lots of things happen, including the entrance of everybody's favorite evil lawyer.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's entry is in three parts!****

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
10.

“Here’s the thing, Spike.”

It was Saturday, the weekend before Christmas, and even the most dedicated employees had refused to work this weekend despite the looming disaster. So Xander had slept in a little, made a run to the butcher’s for some blood, worked out, and then spent several hours going over figures and plans. He now sat facing the bed and Spike, who was in good enough shape to sit upright.

Spike looked apprehensive, wondering what Xander was going to tell him.

“It turns out I’m here for another week or so.” Was that relief he saw sliding across the vampire’s face?

“I have the next couple days off, then I have to spend a bunch of time trying to avoid a catastrophe.” For a moment, Xander remembered when he battled apocalypses. Now he just fought other people in suits.

“So once you can walk, you can move around the room however you want, you can help yourself to the blood in the fridge, okay? I’m not…I’m not gonna punish you, not gonna hurt you. Consider this a little vacation, right?”

“Yes, Master.” Spike’s eyes were wide. Xander was pretty sure this was a lot more freedom than he was used to, and that was pretty fucking pathetic.

“I know the tv bugs you, but you can listen to music, right?” Spike nodded hesitantly. “Fine. Then if you want, you can mess with the radio when I’m not here. Just keep it quiet.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Xander watched the vampire for a while. Then he realized he was feeling kind of cabin feverish. So he changed to jeans and went for a drive.

For a while, he just drove aimlessly around. He’d lived in LA for a time after he left Sunnydale, up near Glendale. It’s where he’d met Stacey. He was working for a small construction firm and she was the sister of a co-worker. She was in nursing school. They got married a year later, but then they split after only two years. They’d fought a lot—about money, about his drinking, about her friends—and one day she’d called him a self-centered, shallow loser. He’d moved out the next day, thinking he was angry with her, but really because he knew she was right. He’d moved to Seattle less than a year later, where he’d had his brief marriage to Beth, and then to Missouri. He hadn’t really been back to LA, except for these occasional stupid meetings, and then he rarely went anywhere but the office and his hotel.

Eventually, he found himself at the jobsite, a scrubby, weedy spot within pissing distance of the freeway. He couldn’t imagine why all these people were so concerned about it—it was just a lot of nothing. It would be much improved with a shiny new office building, he thought. He bent and picked up a handful of soil and sifted it through his fingers. Just dirt, he thought.

He headed to Glendale, steering slowly past his old apartment. He wondered where Stacey was now. If they were still married he’d probably be spending this weekend with her family. They were nothing as bad as the Harris freakshow, but no picnic either. He had no regrets about never seeing them again.

At last, he went back towards the hotel. He stopped and picked up more beer on the way, then got a pizza.

The radio was on when he walked into the room. Spike started guiltily, hunching in on himself protectively, but Xander just smiled at him. “Listening to some Nirvana, Spike?”

“I was—You said—“

“It’s fine. I told you you could.”

Spike relaxed a little. “Thank you, Master.”

“It made the day a little easier to get through?”

Spike nodded.

Xander filled a cup with some blood, and Spike’s hands had healed enough for him to hold it himself. Xander thought he caught a hint of a smile as the vampire handed the empty cup back to him. It had probably been a long time since he fed himself.

They kept the music on as Xander ate his pizza. Spike sat there, eyes fixed on his lap. As Xander finished the last of his food, he took a big swig of beer and looked speculatively at him. “You think with some help you could walk to the bathroom?”

Spike appeared slightly uneasy, but he said, “Yes, Master.”

“Good. Be right back.”

Xander went into the bathroom and started to fill the tub. Despite his efforts with the towel, Spike probably still had some dried blood caked on him here and there. Besides, a nice soak always felt good on aching muscles.

He walked back into the main room and helped Spike out of bed. They slung their arms around each other, and Xander had to take most of the vampire’s weight, but they were able to make it to the bathroom. Spike was trembling.

“What’s the matter? It’s just a bath. It’ll be nice.”

Spike nodded but didn’t look convinced.

“Are you afraid of water or something?”

“No, Master. It’s….”

“What?”

“It’s where they…they clean me. Between uses.” Spike looked down at the floor as he said this.

Xander briefly wondered what they use to clean him with, then decided he didn’t want to know. “Fuck. Does it hurt?”

“Yes, Master.” Xander had to strain to hear this.

“This won’t hurt. It’s just a bath, okay? Just some nice warm water.”

Xander helped Spike into the tub, and Spike visibly calmed as he was immersed in the harmless, soothing liquid. Xander bit his lip and looked down at him consideringly. “Want me to help, Spike?”

Spike looked up, his face strangely open and innocent. “Yes, please, Master.”

So Xander knelt beside the tub with a washcloth and gently wiped Spike’s slightly stubbly head, his face, his long, almost fragile-looking neck. He was especially careful to cleanse around the edges of the collar. The tiny holes on Spike’s chest were gone; only small red marks remained, and they’d probably fade by morning. Xander slowly ran the towel over the smooth, hairless skin.

Spike’s eyes were closed, his head tilted slightly back, his mouth a bit ajar. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yes, Master,” Spike said without opening his eyes. Xander wondered how long it had been since he’d been able to bathe like this.

As he moved the towel down to Spike’s belly, he wasn’t at all surprised to discover that the vampire was erect. Truth was, so was Xander. There was something so erotic about the quiet drip and splash of water and the pale, still beauty of the creature in the tub.

When he got to Spike’s groin, he was very cautious, mindful of the damage that monster had done. Spike moaned a little but Xander didn’t think it was an unhappy moan. It looked like the swelling in Spike’s balls had completely gone, and now the only swelling was his very hard and slightly pinkish cock. Xander carefully lifted the scrotum and Spike spread his legs as wide as the tub would allow so Xander could dab the cloth underneath.

Xander continued by scrubbing down one of Spike’s legs, then pushing the towel between the long, slender toes. He repeated this on the other side.

He pressed forward on Spike’s shoulders so he could get to his back. The marks were still there, but the open wounds had closed and the skin was smooth. Vampire healing was an amazing thing.

Xander pulled Spike back against the edge of the tub again, so that he was nearly lying on his back, with his chin barely above the water line. His cock was still bobbing readily, but the rest of him looked serene and almost delicate. There was none of that sense of tightly coiled power that Xander remembered in the Spike of his youth. For the first time, Xander found himself speculating on what Spike had been like as a human. Suddenly he saw him as a man, as a victim—first of murder, well over a century ago, and now of the humans who used and abused him for their own pleasure. As Xander himself did in October, as he wanted to do now.

His stomach wrenched unhappily, and with a low growl that startled Spike, he pulled the plug. “Out,” he barked.

Spike scrambled to obey, but his legs nearly collapsed underneath him and Xander had to fish him out and set him on the toilet to be dried. Spike flinched away from him slightly as Xander wiped him down with one of the big white towels. Xander threw the towel onto the floor and hauled Spike to his feet, then half-dragged him back to the bed. Spike lay there helplessly, avoiding eye contact, his pretty cock now limp. Xander yanked the blankets over him.

He pulled off his jeans and boxers, stomped into the bathroom, and pulled on his bathing trunks, which were hanging on a hook. Then he slammed out the door without another word.

He’d already worked out in the morning, but right now he needed to punish his body enough so he couldn’t think. And he did, first running on a treadmill until his lungs burned, and then throwing himself into the pool and swimming lap after lap until his arms and legs were too leaden to move. He hauled himself into the Jacuzzi and imagined how it would feel to slip another foot or so down into the water.

When he returned to the room, Spike was exactly where he’d left him, of course. His head was bowed and he didn’t look up. Xander had the sudden urge to hit him, to really whale on him until he’d thumped the submissiveness right out of him, until Spike hit back. But he knew that would never happen. Between the chip, and the training, and whatever the fuck else they did to vampires, the government guaranteed it. Slaves did not fight back.

Xander sat down on the chair in his still-wet shorts and drank most of the beer he’d bought earlier.

 

11.

The vampire lay beside the snoring man, afraid to move. Afraid. It had felt the waves of anger pouring from Master, and it had no idea what it had done wrong. It had been trying so very hard to be good for Master, for this Master especially.

And the bath, oh, the bath had been lovely. The warm water had soothed its pains, and it had felt so weightless and peaceful, and then there were Master’s gentle hands, _caring_ for it. Then suddenly Master was furious. Was it because the vampire had become aroused? It hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to, but those hands on its body were so nice.

It had remembered another bath, a big clawfoot affair, and several people—servants? minions?—scampering about, bringing soap and towels and oils. Water vapor was rising into frigid air, and in the mist was someone else, sitting on a chair, watching. Ah—two someone elses, actually, a man and a woman, and the woman was perched on the man’s lap. Not a woman, a vampire. Its sire. Her skirts were bunched up and one of the man’s big hands was under them, while the other roamed over her chest. She was smiling slyly at the man—oh, not a man, either, also a vampire, the one he’d remembered before— and the vampire was watching the slave as it cleansed itself.

But it wasn’t a slave then, was it?

Still, when the big vampire told it to take itself in its hand, it had. And then it had stroked itself, its gaze never leaving the others, the sounds of its sire’s moans and sighs echoing in the small room. The big vampire had long, brown hair and he had pinned the one in the tub with his stare, imprisoning it with the yellow sparks in his eyes and the slight curve of his lips, and when he said, “Come, William, me lad,” the vampire had, its body shuddering helplessly, its milky spend curling out into the scented water.

That had been its name once. William. A nice, ordinary name. It wondered how long it had been since anyone had called it that. Master called it Spike, though, and that name seemed familiar as well, which was confusing.

Oh, it didn’t matter. Master was angry with it and soon he would leave, or send the vampire away, and then it would return to having no name at all.

 

12.

Spike was wrapped in a ball when Xander awoke, his arms curled over his face. He was twitching and whimpering in his sleep, and for a time Xander watched him, seeing the muscles of his back tighten and release in spasms. He wondered if Spike had had nightmares before, all those years when he was a free vampire, and what kinds of things might haunt a demon’s dreams.

Xander had some more work to do, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being cooped up all day, Spike stealing glances at him and cringing every time he moved. He hopped out of bed, ignoring his pounding head and ignoring the way Spike coiled even tighter as soon as Xander moved. He threw on some clothes and made a mental note to put out his laundry for collection tonight. “I’ll be back later,” he said to the form huddled under the covers. “You can feed yourself.”

He got in his car and started driving, no particular destination in mind. After a while, he found himself heading south on the 5, passing through Laguna Hills, then San Clemente, then Camp Pendleton. He took an off-ramp in Carlsbad and there he was, staring at the Pacific. He parked the car and got out.

It was an overcast day and chilly by Southern California standards, so the beach was nearly deserted. He’d been acclimated to the Midwest for a while now, though, and to him the weather felt balmy. He kicked off his Reeboks and tossed them into the car, then walked across the sand, enjoying the feel of it under his feet. The ocean was another thing he missed.

He found a spot that looked as good as any, and plopped down to sit cross-legged, looking out over the water. He thought he could make out a tanker ship almost on the horizon, but he wasn’t sure. Fuck. He supposed that soon he was going to need glasses. A couple of seagulls wheeled and squawked overhead. The water was steel gray and the waves roared and crashed, patiently eating away at the California coastline.

When he roused himself and glanced at his watch, he was shocked to discover that he’d been sitting there for hours. He hadn’t eaten anything at all today, and his stomach rumbled at him. Back at the car, he laced his shoes back on, then he spied a restaurant just up the street.

It was a seafood place, with a counter full of fish steaks for sale in the front, and lionfish and puffers swimming around in tanks inside. He ordered some chowder and ahi and ate slowly, watching with amusement as the young couple at the next table tried to deal with a moody tween and a potential toddler meltdown. His waitress, a pretty brunette whose nametag read “Jessyca,” flirted with him a little, and he flirted back. She wished him a Merry Christmas when he paid. He left her a $20 tip.

It was dark as he drove back north, and the traffic was very light. Most people were home with their families, he supposed. It was strange to see the freeway so empty.

Spike was back in the corner, back in Present. “What the hell are you doing?” Xander shouted.

Spike turned so he was facing Xander, but stayed on his knees, prostrating himself on the ground. “Sorry, Master!” he murmured into the carpet. “I thought…. I’m sorry! I didn’t—“

“Fuck, Spike. You’re fine.” Xander sighed at the miserable heap at his feet. At least, he noted, most of the wounds seemed to be cleared up. “Did you have some blood today?”

Spike didn’t look up. “Yes, Master.”

“Good. Look, get off the floor, okay? Why don’t you come sit on the bed?” Xander sat down himself and patted the other side encouragingly. Hesitantly, Spike crawled over and climbed up. He was tense and stiff.

“Why’d you do that, Spike? I told you you didn’t have to.” Xander kept his voice as calm as he could.

“I, I…I displeased, you Master. Last night. I’m sorry! Please…please tell me what to do. I’ll be good, Master!”

Jesus Christ. Xander looked into the pleading blue eyes and sighed again. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t mad at you. I was just…. It doesn’t matter. You’ve been good, all right?”

Spike took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Master.”

Xander patted his arm reassuringly. “I have to get some work done. You can listen to the radio quietly, if you want. Or take another bath. Or…you could look out at the atrium, I suppose. There’s a big Christmas tree set up. And if you stand right you can watch people walk by on the way to the elevators.”

“I…I can look outside, Master?”

“Well, it’s not really outside, but yeah, sure.”

Xander sat at the desk, plowing his way through memos and reports and spreadsheets, while Spike stood at the window, peering through the curtains. Xander had hit a particularly dense group of figures and was hitting his head with the heel of his hand in frustration, when he sensed someone standing behind him.

Spike was there, head bowed meekly, a bottle of Heineken in his hand.

“You want a beer, Spike?”

The vampire looked shocked. “No! I thought…perhaps you wanted one, Master.”

“That’s…that’s nice. Thank you.” Xander took the bottle, saw that Spike had already removed the cap, and took a long drink. It tasted really good. He smiled at Spike, who was still hovering uncertainly behind his chair.

He plunked the bottle down, frowned at the pile of papers, and then stood and stretched. “I think I’ve had it for today. I’m gonna turn in.”

Xander stripped and brushed his teeth, then got into bed. Spike was standing where he’d left him. “You want to sleep, Spike?” He patted the bed.

Spike nodded and climbed in next to him.

Xander really was tired, but for a long time he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Spike’s hushed breathing. Then he suddenly he was aware of the gorgeous, naked male body inches from his, and Lesser Xander sprang to attention. Xander groaned. You’d think he’d have better control of the thing by now.

Spike, who was also on his back, turned and looked at him. The light in the room was very dim, but it reflected a little off of Spike’s white skin and shining eyes.

“Master?” Spike whispered. His voice was at once husky and smooth as silk, and Xander’s cock gave an answering twitch. “Please?”

Xander wanted to refuse. He really did. But apparently his cock now controlled his mouth, because he couldn’t say a word. He blinked at Spike, who must have taken it as a yes, because then the vampire was disappearing under the covers. A split second later, Xander felt a cool hand cradling him, and a clever tongue was lapping at his crown.

He knew what Spike was doing. The vampire wasn’t lusting after him, wasn’t yearning to blow him like some cocksucker in a bar. He was simply trying to please his master, trying to be a good little slave so he wouldn’t get punished.

Xander knew this, but as that cold suction tightened around his hungry shaft, he couldn’t make himself care. His only companion since October had been Rosie Palm and her five sisters, and this was a lot, lot better. A lot. Especially when Spike loosened his throat and swallowed, taking Xander all the way to the root.

Xander made garbled noises that might have been a prayer of thanks for vampires’ lack of need to breathe, or maybe a prayer that the chip didn’t suddenly malfunction when those fangs were millimeters away. He bucked his hips and came hard enough to see stars. Then that little cat tongue was licking him clean, and Spike’s head reappeared from under the sheets. His lips were swollen and red, which made Xander do a stupid thing. He reached out, grabbed the vampire, and pulled him in for a bruising kiss.

Spike froze for a moment and then started kissing back, his lips pressing urgently against Xander’s as Xander chased his tongue around his mouth. Not surprisingly, Spike tasted of blood and semen, but Xander _was_ surprised that this wasn’t unpleasant at all. Far from it, actually.

Spike was draped half over his body at this point, and Xander reached around him and grabbed that incredible ass. When he pushed Spike up against himself, the vampire’s cock poked into his hip, rock hard and wet.

Spike made a needy little mewl. Xander smoothed his hands over the silky skin, then squeezed at the hard muscles. He was almost breathless from the kiss, but he didn’t want to stop. Instead, he pressed Spike into him, encouraging him to rock his hips. And Spike did, humping energetically against Xander’s slickened skin.

Spike’s hands were clutching Xander’s shoulders as if for dear life, his ass was bunching and flexing under Xander’s hands, and he was moaning into Xander’s mouth. When some of Xander’s fingers wandered into his cleft, he spread his legs without stopping the pounding of his loins. Xander slowly pressed his middle finger against Spike’s hole, and, when Spike only moved more enthusiastically, inside.

Xander moved his finger in and out to the rhythm of Spike’s motions. He brushed it against Spike’s prostate. When he felt the hands on his shoulders clench him even tighter, he wanted to warn Spike of the chip, wanted to tell him he could come, but he couldn’t speak because he was still locked in that kiss.

Then Spike made a strangled noise and nearly convulsed atop him, and he felt tepid liquid discharging onto his skin.

Spike rocked a few more times and then stilled. Xander broke his mouth away and sucked in air. They were both panting loudly. Xander ran his hands softly up and down Spike’s sinewy back. Then Spike sank below the covers again to lick his come off of Xander’s hip.

Xander was hard again—he hadn’t had that quick of a turnaround time since he was a teenager—and Spike moved as if he was going to suck him off again, but Xander pulled him up. “You’re going to kill me, Spike.”

Was that a bit of a curl of the lip, he saw, the old, familiar smirk? If so, it was gone too soon to tell.

Xander fell asleep with Spike still mostly on top of him and his arms wrapped around Spike’s waist.

 

13.

The vampire liked the feel of the broad chest rising slowly up and down beneath it, the sound of the heart beating inches away from its ear, the weight of the big hands on the small of its back.

It—no, _he_! Because he once was a man, whatever he’d now become—ran his tongue inside his own mouth, chasing Master’s flavors.

His thoughts were still slippery little fishes darting around a big pond, but now he was finding it a bit easier to catch those fish and hold on to them. And his memories, most of which had been deeply submerged in the murky waters, were coming closer to the surface.

It was Angel who’d once pretended to give him Master; Angel, who was almost Angelus, his grandsire. The vampire who’d slept next to him, the one who’d watched him in the bath. And his sire—Drusilla!—had been on Angelus’s lap. But in Sunnydale, Angel had played at being Angelus, until he actually became Angelus, but then he was Angel again.

It was still very confusing.

But Master had been there, just a boy. And the vampire, who called himself Spike but had once been William, had seen through Angel’s ruse. Oh, but he would have liked it if it had been true, would have relished sinking his fangs into that sweet, young skin.

He’d seen Master after, but hadn’t had the time for him. Hadn’t thought much about him at all. He was a nuisance, a determined, foolhardy nuisance. A smart-mouthed whelp. And once, a hostage.

He was something else entirely now, wasn’t he? Master. For now, the only important person in Spike’s little world.

Funny, that—Xander Harris with his arms around him, Xander Harris the center of his universe, Xander Harris the only bright spot in the misery of his unlife. Xander Harris, who would leave in a few days, so that Spike could be decontaminated and hooded and stuck arse-up in the corner for the next master to use.

Master was too sound asleep to feel the tears that ran down his shoulder and pooled on his chest.

 

14.

There was a spark in Spike’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, the merest hint of what he once was. Xander was somewhat astonished to realize that he was happy to see it there, that he wanted _Spike_, not a nameless, listless slave.

Jesus Christ, what was he going to do?

He pushed these thoughts out of his mind and concentrated on his agenda for the day. He’d had a few more days of work, and now it was Christmas. Suddenly he wanted to curl up in a corner and cry like a baby, because there was nobody to call and wish a happy holiday, no stupid gifts to exchange, not even a dried-out turkey or bricklike fruitcake to eat.

Spike was at the window, looking down at whoever was passing through the atrium, tapping his fingers to the Lou Reed on the radio. He looked over his shoulder at Xander and actually smiled. It was a small smile, but a real one.

No gifts. Xander could fix that, at least.

“I’ll be back soon, Spike,” he said, and Spike nodded.

Xander passed the maid in the hallway on his way to the elevator. It sucked that she had to work today. She must have family somewhere. “No necesita limpiar mi room today,” he told her. “Just, uh, mas towels, por favor.”

She smiled at him and nodded.

He started to walk by her, but then, on a whim, stopped and pulled out his wallet. “Uh, feliz Navidad,” he said, handing her a bill.

She looked down at Ulysses Grant and her grin widened. “Thank you, señor! Feliz Navidad.”

The gift shop in the lobby was open. He made a few purchases, then took his bag across the parking lot to Applebee’s, where he was the only customer, and where he tipped his tired-looking waiter another fifty. Then, stomach pleasantly full, he headed back upstairs.

Spike was still at the window. Xander supposed that the atrium was grand entertainment compared to what he was used to. Xander waved at him, grabbed one of the wine glasses that were next to the ice bucket on the dresser, and ducked into the bathroom. He had to smile when he saw the enormous stack of towels the maid had left him, and the large handful of chocolates she’d arranged on the counter. He unwrapped one of the candies and popped it into his mouth.

He pulled his pocket knife out and sat on the closed toilet, then with a pause and a wince, slid it across his wrist. He held his arm over the glass, careful not to spill a drop. By the time the glass was half full, the bleeding had grown sluggish. He yanked a tube of antibiotic and some bandages out of the bag, slathered the goo onto the wound, and wrapped the bandages tightly around his wrist. He held the glass up to the light, tipping it this way and that.

Ah, 1981 Chateau de Harris. Excellent vintage.

Xander picked up the bag and carried it and the glass into the main room. “Spike?”

The vampire turned and looked at him questioningly. Xander walked next to him. “Uh, Merry Christmas,” he said, holding the glass toward him.

He’d never seen such a puzzled look in his life.

“It’s yours. Bon appétit.” He pressed the glass into Spike’s hand.

Still frowning in confusion, Spike raised it to his lips and took a sip. His eyes grew huge and he fell back against the wall. Xander had to help steady the glass, or else he would have dropped it.

“M-M-Master?” Spike sputtered.

“Really. Drink up before it coagulates.”

“But, but, it’s human.” And then Spike spied the bandage around Xander’s wrist. “It’s _yours_, Master!” If vampires could get paler, Xander thought he would have.

“Yeah, it’s mine. It’s Christmas and…and I thought I could spare a little. Give you sort of a treat, I guess. But if you don’t want it….”

“I do! I—“ Spike took a deep breath. “Thank you, Master.” And he slowly emptied the glass, closing his eyes in ecstasy. When he’d drained every drop, Xander took the glass away, and Spike licked his lips dreamily and shuddered. Xander couldn’t help noticing that his cock was half-hard.

“I got you something else, too,” Xander said, and Spike blinked at him. “Here.” He thrust the bag forward.

Spike took the bag and, at Xander’s encouraging nod, opened it. He stuck his hand in and pulled out two paperback books.

“I, uh, figured you probably get pretty bored during the day, so, well, maybe you’d like to read.” Shit, what if he couldn’t? What if they’d fucked with his head too much? “You can…you can read, can’t you?”

“I…I don’t know, Master.” Spike held the books up and looked at the titles. Another small smile lit his face. “Yes, Master.”

“Good. They didn’t have much of a selection, but maybe these are okay?” Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Okay, maybe a little clichéd, but it was that or chick lit.

“I can…I can read these, Master?”

“That’s why I got them. Not much of a reader myself.”

Xander settled down at the desk to work. Every so often he’d peek at Spike, who was cross-legged on the floor in the corner, face buried in the pages of _The Stand_.

When they went to bed, Spike gave him another spectacular blowjob and then rode him like a cowboy.

Maybe not such a terrible Christmas after all.

 

 

15.

Spike could still taste Master, his blood and his semen. He could feel Master, too, in his sphincter, which still ached pleasantly, and in the bed next to him—half under him, really—where Master lay, warm and softly snoring.

Happy Christmas, he thought, snorting quietly at himself.

He understood some things tonight.

He understood that the synthetic shite they’d been feeding him must contain drugs, and that those drugs had been filling his brain with cotton wool, making it difficult to think coherently. Making him more docile, he expected. A mindless, obedient toy. Now that Master was giving him real blood instead, the drugs were wearing off and his head was clearing. He was still not…himself. Perhaps never would be. But he was, at least, a closer approximation.

He understood that Master was a very lonely man. Spike wondered what had happened to that lot he had been friends with in Sunnydale, the slayer and the others.

Spike understood that Master’s beneficence to him was a result of the loneliness, and likely also evidence of a truly good heart, albeit one that had been battered and bruised by something. Giving a slave his own blood as a pressie! And books. A slave who tried to kill him more than once.

He understood that he never could have coped with this situation with Xander Harris fifteen years ago, and Xander Harris couldn’t have coped with it either. But that was then, and times had changed. Harris had changed. And, after a decade and a half of enslavement, Spike had changed.

He understood that his own feelings for Master were born of desperation, and of a pathetic gratitude for being treated as somewhat more than an object. But, God, he still felt them. Still wanted to please Master, not to avoid punishment—because he also understood that this Master would not hurt him—but to see Master’s lips quirk into that little smile. To see the rigid set of his broad shoulders relax a bit. To see him throw his head back and open his mouth and lose his breath as Spike pleasured him.

And Spike understood that Master would leave soon and Spike would go back to his usual wretched existence. He was afraid that even with the drugs resumed, he would recall some of his time with Master, and he would be all the more desolate with the loss of a bit of freedom and comfort and kindness.

Oh, God, he didn’t know if he could bear it.

 

16.

The thing about a holiday is that the work didn’t disappear. It was there, waiting for you when you returned. Only now everyone was hungover or cranky from too much family time or just marking time until New Years, and nobody was pleased to be there.

Xander did the best he could, and was as patient has he knew how to be.

He began by presenting a solution to the last of their minor problems, the recalcitrant and unreasonable Planning Department. The solution had come to him last night, actually, as he lay in bed, a sated-looking vampire draped over him. Everybody was happy with it. His boss, who’d listened in via a conference call, was ecstatic. Later, privately, he promised Xander that the promotion was his, no matter what happened with that guy’s title claim.

Xander thanked him and tried to sound appreciative and enthusiastic, but the truth was, he didn’t give a shit anymore. He didn’t really want more responsibility, more time in a suit and tie, and he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted to spend the money on.

In any case, implementing his plan took the better part of the day, and by six o’clock, he was tired. Everyone was tired. So they adjourned, knowing that for the next several days they were going to have to deal with Wolfram &amp; Hart.

Xander wasn’t hungry, and he was too fatigued to even think about exercising. He vegetated in front of the television instead, while Spike was curled up next to him with his book. Now and then, he’d catch Spike stealing a glimpse of the screen.

“The tv’s not hurting your head?”

“Not so much, Master. I think…the blood you’ve been giving me helps, yeah?”

“Well, then, feel free to watch when I’m not here, too.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Xander watched as Spike got up, walked to the fridge, and, with a little grin on his face, brought him a beer. He was moving differently, Xander realized. More of his old grace and…prowliness. Which was probably not a real word, but that’s what it was. It was really goddamned sexy.

“You want one, too?”

Spike looked surprised and slightly alarmed. “No, no, Master. I’d—best not. Thank you.”

Xander drank the beer and two more besides. He was channel surfing when he came across one of his all-time favorite movies, _Young Frankenstein_. He could recite entire scenes of dialog. Spike put down the book and was soon laughing. Xander wasn’t sure whether the vampire was amused by the movie or by him, but it didn’t really matter, because Spike was _laughing_.

They didn’t have sex that night. Xander was just too worn out. But they still cuddled, and wasn’t that fucking weird? Xander’s last thought before he fell asleep was that he hadn’t spent this many nights in a row with someone since he’d been married.

 

[Part 2c](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/22892.html#cutid1)


	5. December 2014 (part 2c)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments so far! Today's chapter is the longest in the fic, and is in several parts. Lots of things happen, including the entrance of everybody's favorite evil lawyer.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 2c**_  
**Chapter Title:** December 2014 (part 2c)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** Thank you for all your comments so far! Today's chapter is the longest in the fic, and is in several parts. Lots of things happen, including the entrance of everybody's favorite evil lawyer.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's entry is in three parts!****

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
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17.

Surprisingly, one of the Wolfram &amp; Hart attorneys agreed to meet with them. Nobody had really expected this until after the new year. Also surprisingly, this guy was pretty far up the Wolfram &amp; Hart food chain, indicating that, for whatever reason, the firm took particular interest in the case.

Xander hated him. He was a couple years older than Xander, not tall but muscular. Handsome, too, and arrogant as shit. He stomped into the conference room like he owned the place, like he owned them, and insisted that his client had proper claim to the land, and that there was no way he was going to relinquish it, for any amount of cash.

Xander said very little during this meeting. He let the lawyers talk—it was their gig, after all. But this asshole kept looking at him, staring at him, really, as if Xander was the only other person in the room.

When the attorney was done, he stomped out again.

But when Xander left the room a moment later to make a phone call, there he was, waiting for him.

“Harris,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“How about me and you go somewhere tonight and have a drink or two? A little private chat.”

Was this jerk trying to pick him up? Xander squinted at him for a moment. He’d really rather go back to his hotel, back to his—back to his hotel. But maybe he could get something useful out of the guy, and it was his job, after all.

“Okay, sure.”

The lawyer smiled and clapped him on the back. “Great! Meet me here at eight.” He handed Xander a business card with an address scrawled on the back. Bastard was so confident Xander would agree he’d been ready for him.

They worked until a little past six. Xander thought for a moment about heading back to his room and checking in with Spike, then shook his head, disgusted with himself. It’s not like Spike was his fucking boyfriend, was it?

Instead he found a decent Mexican place and had some dinner, then stopped into a bookstore and picked up a couple more paperbacks. In case Spike finished the others before…. Just in case.

At three minutes past eight, he pulled up at the address the lawyer had given him. It was a hotel, fancier than his. He used the valet parking. What the hell, the company could pay for that, too.

The bar was sleek and expensive-looking, with lots of polished metal and artsy-looking lights. It was quiet, too, not very crowded on a weekday. The lawyer was already sitting at a table, and he stood with his hand out when Xander arrived.

“Harris! Thanks for coming.”

Xander shook his hand. “Yeah, sure.”

They sat down, and when the waiter appeared, Xander ordered a scotch. The lawyer was already drinking, he saw. A beer. American. Huh. Xander had taken off his tie and left it in the car, and he noticed now that the other man was tieless as well.

“So, Mr. McDonald. What would you like to chat about?” Xander didn’t have any patience for beating around the bush.

“Hey, call me Lindsey. And I’ll call you Alex.”

“Xander. I prefer Xander.”

“Sure, Xander.”

The waiter brought his drink and he took a gulp. Fought the urge to down it all at once.

“So, Xander, you enjoying your stay in our little city?”

“No, not really.”

“Anxious to get back to the snow? Or maybe it’s good barbeque you’re missing.”

Xander noticed that Lindsey’s accent had shifted several degrees south of where it had been this afternoon. Texas, maybe. Yeah, somehow he could picture the guy in a cowboy hat.

“Look, I’m guessing you didn’t invite me here to discuss food and the weather. What do you want?”

“In a hurry, Xander? Got somewhere you need to be?”

Xander finished his drink and suppressed a snarl. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long couple of weeks.” He waved his glass at the waiter in the universal sign for “bring me another.” The waiter nodded.

“I understand.”

“If you want to talk legal crap, you know I’m not your man. I’m a carpenter.”

“Yeah? I heard you have an MBA, Xander.”

Xander grimaced. “Night school. The company paid my way. Not exactly Harvard Business.”

Lindsey polished off his beer just as the waiter arrived with refills.

“Yeah? Well, I started out in community college.”

“And look where you are now.”

Lindsey laughed, loudly. “Exactly. Xander, are you happy working for Lanier &amp; Taylor?”

“They’ve treated me well.”

Lindsey leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if he were going to share a secret. “We’ve been doing a little research on you, Xander.”

Research? Xander just lifted an eyebrow.

“We think you might fit in nicely with our firm.”

That wasn’t what Xander expected to hear. “I’m not a lawyer, remember?”

“Yeah, well, Wolfram &amp; Hart is pretty…diverse…in its interests. We have lots of guys working for us who ain’t lawyers. Anyway, we could use someone with good knowledge of construction, and they don’t teach that in law school.”

“I’m not looking for a new job.”

“Maybe you should be. We can offer you a lot more money than L&amp;T is payin’ you. And a really interesting…benefits package.”

Something about this guy was creeping Xander out. He was smooth enough, friendly, but Xander couldn’t help but thinking about all those _Twilight Zone_ episodes where someone sold their soul to the devil. Xander wondered how much his soul was worth. Not much, probably.

“Why me? Plenty of people know a lot more about construction than I do.”

“Probably. But like I said, we’ve been doin’ our homework. You’ll fit in well.”

Xander took a final swallow of his drink.

“I’m flattered, thanks. But like I said, I’m not looking for a new job.”

“You think you owe L&amp;T something? You a loyal company man, Xander?”

“I’m loyal enough, but no, I’ve given them back their due. I just don’t have any reason to move.”

“I’ll tell you what. You think on it for a while. I’ll get back to you later, and maybe I can find you a reason. Like I said, the benefits are very, very good.”

Xander had no intention of considering it, but saying he would would get Lindsey out of his hair for a while. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” he said, standing. “No promises, though.”

Lindsey threw a fifty down on the table then he stood, too. “Of course not. You have my card if you have any questions, though. Right? And we’ll be in touch.” They shook hands again, and Lindsey did one of those shaking and back-patting maneuvers, as if they’d made a deal.

On the drive back to his hotel, Xander kept replaying the conversation in his head. What did the guy really want from him? What was all that shit about benefits? Xander had the idea Lindsey hadn’t been talking about dental insurance. And why did Xander get such an uneasy feeling from him, even more than usual with lawyers?

Spike looked a little anxious when he arrived, but he smiled widely when Xander handed him the new books. “Thank you, Master.”

“Sorry I was late.” Okay, that was really lame. “I, uh—did you eat okay?”

Spike nodded.

Xander looked in the fridge. “There’s about two pints left, it looks like. How long will that last you?”

“Another two days, Master.”

They exchanged glances for a moment, and then both looked away.

Xander felt somehow corrupted after his meeting tonight. He went down to the pool, hoping the chlorinated water would wash the taint away. And maybe it did, because he felt better when he got back to the room.

When he sat down on the bed to take off his shoes, Spike knelt behind him and, without a word, began massaging his shoulders. “Oh, fuck, that feels really good.”

“It’d feel better with your clothes off. Master.”

Xander glanced over his shoulder at Spike, who looked suspiciously smug. Oh, what the hell? It would feel better naked. Xander started to pull off his shirt, but Spike gently pushed his arms down and did it for him. Then he maneuvered Xander onto his back and eased off his damp swim trunks. He carried them into the bathroom. When he came back, he rolled Xander onto his stomach. Xander decided he kind of liked being handled this way tonight.

He liked it even better when Spike straddled his back and began kneading the tight muscles in his shoulders. He felt like he was slowly melting under those strong hands. It was wonderful. The vampire’s balls and flaccid cock were brushing against the small of his back, and that was nice, too.

Spike gradually worked his way down Xander’s back, then his ass, and finally his legs. By the time he reached his feet, Xander was pretty sure he’d never be able to move again. But then Spike rolled him over again and began working on his front.

By now, Spike was erect, his long cock jutting damply from his hairless groin. He had a little frown line between his brows as he concentrated on Xander’s pectorals. God, he was so beautiful! It took all his energy, but Xander reached up and touched the scar on Spike’s face, tracing it with his thumb.

“How’d you get this?”

Spike’s frown deepened for a moment. “Killed a slayer, Master.”

“Oh.”

Maybe Spike expected a bigger reaction. Maybe Xander did, too, but he felt nothing. Of course, the naked creature perched across his hips had probably murdered thousands. He was no different from the demons who’d taken Jesse and Willow, or, for that matter, from the countless ones he’d helped Buffy slaughter for three years.

Soulless.

Evil.

If it weren’t for the chip, he would have torn Xander’s throat out right then.

And Xander didn’t care.

Xander laughed as Spike rubbed his sides, and Spike lifted his bald brows. “Ticklish,” Xander said, and Spike smirked a little and moved on.

Xander’s cock was standing at attention now, too, but Spike ignored it, instead working on the fronts of Xander’s thighs, then his shins. Finally, he rubbed Xander’s feet, and that felt so good that Xander groaned.

When Spike was finished, he looked at Xander questioningly. Xander pulled him towards him by his arm, and Spike settled his length atop Xander. He was like a cool, heavy blanket. A cool, heavy blanket with a cock, and that cock was cozily nestled up against Xander’s shorter, thicker one.

Xander grabbed Spike’s ass with both hands and, with more energy than he thought he’d be able to muster, flipped them over so that Spike was on the bottom. Xander wrapped his hand around both their hard lengths and started stroking, supporting the weight of his upper torso with his other arm.

Spike’s hands hovered inches from his skin. “Master?” he asked, and Xander nodded. So Spike ran his palms and his newly healed fingers across Xander’s chest, down his shoulders and biceps, up his flanks, and across his back, before settling at last on his butt. Spike’s hands were smooth and strong, and their chill was a counterpoint to the heat and friction at their groins.

Spike was squirming under him, trying to buck up into his hand. His eyes were wide and focused on Xander. Eyes were supposed to be the windows of the soul, and this vampire had no soul, so what did Xander see there? Lust, most certainly. Beneath that, a layer of fear, he thought. Fear of him? Or of something else? He didn’t know. And beneath that, a…wisdom…he guessed, that reminded him that Spike was over a century and a half old. And still deeper in those cerulean pools, maybe a flash of something else he couldn’t identify.

But, “Oh, fuck, Spike, that’s so good.” And Spike grunted in agreement as Xander felt Spike’s foreskin moving up and down against his circumcised glans, and as their mingled precome slicked and lubricated their rigid shafts, and as their balls jostled together, and as Spike’s hands gripped his cheeks. Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head and his lashes fluttered and he cried out, and Xander felt the rush of Spike’s spend just before his own climax rushed through his body like a train.

Xander’s arm finally gave out and he collapsed on top of Spike.

 

18.

Master was beautiful. Spike didn’t think he had noticed that Before. Maybe he hadn’t, with those horrible, baggy clothes the boy used to wear. But the man…he had little lines at the corners of his eyes and although he was pale now, his skin was slightly weathered, as if he’d once spent a lot of time outdoors. His hair was a little long and floppy, as if he hadn’t bothered to get it cut in a while. His muscles were solid and he didn’t yet have the middle-aged deposit of fat around his middle.

The constant quips were gone, and in fact Master had been very quiet. Perhaps he was more talkative around real people. Or perhaps he’d grown out of the habit of conversation.

Spike wondered what about Master’s work made him so tense. He never talked about it to Spike. Not as though Spike expected him to—he wasn’t his bloody wife, was he? Not even really a lover. Just an amenity, like the telly in the bath. And soon he wouldn’t even be that.

Today the maid had come in as Spike was reading one of the books Master had brought him. She’d clucked her tongue at him and shooed him into the corner while she made up the bed, then shooed him away again as she vacuumed. And she’d run the alcohol-scented cloth quickly over his body and shook her head at his belly, likely wondering why Master didn’t want him fed. Or perhaps knowing why, and disapproving. But she hadn’t been cruel, had even handled him with a certain gentleness, as if he were a favored pet. But in a few days she would be the one to run the caustic cleansing solution into his mouth and rectum, and then she would replace the gag in his mouth and peel the hood over his head. The hood. He hated the bloody thing. He’d rather be whipped or raped than to have to wear it. Of course, often he had to wear it while being whipped or raped.

Spike shivered a little and Master reflexively tightened his grip around his body. He knew it was foolish to feel safe like this, but he did.

Oh, fuck, what was left of himself?

 

19.

It was hard to concentrate at work today. He kept getting distracted thinking about Lindsey and the offer he’d made. Xander couldn’t fathom why the law firm was so interested in him, and he wondered about those benefits the man had mentioned.

Maybe he should at least consider Lindsey’s proposal. There was really nothing keeping him in Kansas City. And L&amp;T had been good to him, but he’d been good to them, too, putting in a lot more hours than he ever had to.

Maybe something new was just what he needed right now.

When he wasn’t thinking about Wolfram &amp; Hart, he was thinking about Spike. He could picture him perfectly as he must be spending the day, book in hand, head bobbing a little to the radio, glass of cow’s blood at his side. It was an image that made him smile. But then he’d remember that this was a vampire, Spike, William the Bloody, who he’d been fucking all week, and a wave of horror and disgust would roll through him. Or he’d remember that in two more days, Spike would return to being that fucktoy in the corner, and a wave of horror and disgust would roll through him.

Jesus, he needed a drink.

After their unexpected communication yesterday, Wolfram &amp; Hart had retreated today, and refused to say another word. Xander couldn’t escape the uneasy feeling that Lindsey’s entire performance yesterday had been for him. He just didn’t know why.

When he returned to the room, Spike immediately hopped up and brought him a beer. Then he started undressing Xander, first slipping his jacket off of his arms and hanging it in the closet, then unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it with the other dirty laundry. He gently pushed Xander down on to the bed, unlaced his shoes, and removed them and his socks. Then he unbuckled Xander’s belt and pulled his pants and his boxers down over his hips and off his legs. By then the bottle was empty and he brought Xander another.

“Do you want me to draw you a bath, Master? Or give you another massage?”

Xander didn’t know what he wanted. He sighed.

“Can you bring me my phone and my wallet? They’re both in my pants pocket.”

Spike fetched the items he’d requested. Xander pulled the little white card out of his wallet and dialed. The phone rang only once before it was answered.

“McDonald.”

“Hi. Uh, this is Xander Harris.”

“Xander! I was hopin’ I’d hear from you.”

“Yeah, well, you piqued my curiosity.”

Lindsey laughed. “Perfect. You wanna talk some more?”

“I guess I’d like to…hear more.”

“How much longer you in town for?”

“Two days.”

There was a short pause. “I’ll tell you what. Our office isn’t far from L&amp;T. Can you take a long lunch tomorrow? I’ll come pick you up, show you around the place.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Noon?”

“Okay.”

“You’re gonna be glad you listened, Xander.”

Xander made a noncommittal noise. They said goodbye and Xander hung up. He squeezed his eyes tight, as if he could make the world go away.

When he opened them, Spike was still standing there. “Here. Put these back. And I’ll take that bath now.”

Xander soaked. Spike offered to help him bathe, but Xander shooed him away. He wanted to be alone for a while, without the distraction of beautiful, naked, undead bodies. There was some stupid reality show on tv, a bunch of pretty young people trying to survive in the wilderness. He snorted at the screen. Growing up on the Hellmouth—_that_ was a real contest!

 

20.

Spike listened to the small splashing sounds coming from the bathroom, the occasional bursts of noise from the telly on the wall. Something about that phone call had made him uneasy. He had no idea why. It wasn’t like whatever Master was up to was any concern of his. Perhaps it was just the reminder that Master would be gone soon.

He tried to concentrate on his book, knowing he had only a limited number of hours left to read. But his thoughts kept wandering from the page.

Finally, he threw the book down and paced around the room, straightening Master’s shoes, tidying his papers on the desk, collecting the empty beer bottles and placing them in the recycling bin. He realized what a sodding git he was, a vampire playing houseboy. But he found himself wanting to do what little he could for Master. And it had been so long since he was able to do what he wanted, instead of what he was told.

At last Master came out of the bath. He looked exhausted and unhappy. He collapsed into the chair by the desk, still naked, and began reading through his papers. Spike wasn’t sure what to do with himself, but finally he sat down on the floor next to Master, leaning sideways against his heavy legs. Master glanced down at him and smiled absently before returning to his work.

Spike liked Master’s scent. Now, of course, he smelled of the hotel soap, but underlying that was his own essence. Spike had tasted that essence when Master fed him his blood, and now just the memory of that sent a shiver up his spine and made his cock twitch in his lap. He hadn’t had human blood in fifteen years—hadn’t had blood at all, actually, just the shite they pumped into his stomach. It had been so good—fresh and still warm. He moaned quietly and Master slid his palm across his scalp.

“Spike, I have to…I have to deal with this crap tonight.” He rubbed his face with his other hand. “But if you want to go jerk off or something, feel free.”

Spike looked ruefully at his erection. He didn’t use to need permission from a human to deal with it, did he? Didn’t use to—oh, bloody hell. “Use to” didn’t matter. Now that cock didn’t really belong to him any more than anything else belonged to him. He might as well take advantage of the permission while had it.

Spike leaned in harder against Master’s leg and wrapped his palm around his organ. As he stroked slowly, he thought about what it had felt like to have Master’s big, warm hand gripping him last night, the slippery friction of Master’s thick cock against his. Now, a drop of liquid appeared from his slit, and he used his thumb to spread it around the sensitive glans. Oh, nice. Like that.

He glanced upwards, and Master was staring at him, his eyes glassy and his mouth hanging slightly open. Right. Might as well give a good show, then.

Spiked backed up against the bed so Master would have a better view and rose to his knees. He bucked slowly into his fist, liking the feel of his hips rolling under his skin. He watched Master from under half-lowered lids. He knew perfectly well what a pretty picture he made like this. Hell, Angelus had posed him like this often enough, hadn’t he? Big tosser liked to make his William watch and wank while he fucked Drusilla. She’d be shrieking and crying, “Daddy!” but Angelus would be staring at Spike.

So an audience wasn’t half bad, not an appreciative one. And even if he couldn’t see the erection rising from Master’s lap, he’d have been able to smell the man’s arousal—Master was definitely appreciative.

Spike’s hand moved more quickly, his grip just this side of painful. He allowed a breathy little sound to escape from his lips.

He closed his eyes, then, and concentrated on the sound of Master’s raspy inhalations, the swish of the blood in his body. He lifted his right arm and ran his hand across his chest. He grasped his hard left nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching and rolling it.

He opened his eyes as he moved his right hand higher still, then slipped two of his fingers between his lips, sucking them in and out in tandem with his hips. Master had turned his chair completely around and was watching avidly, his own untouched erection protruding between his slightly spread legs.

With a little twist of his lips, Spike sank downwards until he was sitting on his arse, his back against the edge of the bed. He bent one leg and, his left hand still working his cock, slowly slid the middle finger of his right hand into his hole.

Master made a strangled sound and Spike froze. “You want me to stop, Master?”

“No! No stopping!” Master’s voice was thick and low.

Spike resumed his movements, fucking himself with one finger and then two while continuing to wank his weeping cock. He felt his balls draw up tight against his body.

“Master?” he said hoarsely.

“Come, Spike.”

And he did, his body continuing to thrust down onto his hand while his cold seed sprayed onto his belly and chest.

He took a deep breath and withdrew his fingers. He looked at Master’s lap. “Master? Do you want me to—“

“No. Go…go clean yourself up. Take a bath.” There was a thread of anger there that Spike didn’t understand. Hadn’t he done what Master liked?

He wandered off to the bath.

By the time he was finished, Master was in bed, fast asleep. Not wanting to disturb him, and not having been given explicit permission to join him, Spike curled up on the floor. Might as well get used to it again anyway.

 

21.

He woke up alone in bed. After a moment of slight panic he found Spike, asleep on his side beside the bed. His knees were bent and one hand rested next to his open mouth, while the other was stretched out. Fuck. He didn’t mean to make him sleep on the floor.

Xander showered and dressed and by then Spike was sitting up, his arms wrapped around his bent legs.

“You have enough blood for today?”

Spike nodded solemnly.

“Okay. I uh…might be late. You can get on the bed if you want.”

“Thank you, Master.” Spike’s voice was subdued, almost a sigh.

The morning was a bear. They had a lot to accomplish today, and he was nervous about his meeting with Lindsey, and then the fact that this was his last night with Spike…he didn’t want to think about that at all.

Noon finally arrived, though, and he stood outside the building as a black SUV pulled up, the kind that looked big enough to invade a small country, but you could tell by the general shininess that it never left freeways and city streets. The passenger window rolled down. “Climb on up!” Lindsey grinned at him.

Wolfram &amp; Hart was only a mile or so away, and the men were silent during the drive. Country music was playing on the radio and Lindsey tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and hummed under his breath. The building itself was large and interestingly shaped, and by the sign outside, it appeared as if the firm occupied the entire place.

Lindsey pulled up directly to the front doors. A nervous-looking young man in a suit ran over, and as Lindsey and Xander got out, he drove the car away. Lindsey held the door open for him and waved him inside.

Xander’s first impression of the place was frenetic activity. People were scurrying every which way, many of them talking on cell phones as they went.

The second thing he noticed was the vampires. Apart from the auction, he didn’t think he’d ever seen so many in one place. Most were on leashes, crawling briskly behind their handlers, many with signs on their bodies of recent beatings. Several more were chained in various poses throughout the lobby. All of these were especially good-looking, and Xander realized with a lurch in his stomach that they were meant to be decorations, just like the paintings that hung on the wall.

And the third thing he noticed was that a good percentage of the people rushing by weren’t quite…people. He recognized a few of the demon species, but others were new to him.

The Initiative had been somewhat fickle. Vampires were to be rounded up, chipped, and enslaved. A few of the other more violent but humanoid species had the same fate. Other kinds of demons had been deemed untamable or useless and had been exterminated. And still others had been left alone, allowed to go about their business, albeit under somewhat dubious legal statuses. For the most part, those in the latter category kept a low profile, forming small communities here and there and sticking mainly to their own kind. Xander had never seen such a medley of creatures in one place, not even in Sunnydale.

Lindsey had noticed Xander’s stunned expression. “Wolfram &amp; Hart prides itself on a diverse workplace,” he intoned with a small smirk.

“Uh, yeah.”

“We meet a lot of specialized needs.”

“What’s with, uh, all the vamps?”

Lindsey clapped him on the back. “One of those benefits I was tellin’ you about. Company provides ‘em as bonuses and lets their owners bring ‘em into the office if they want. Makes for happy employees.”

“Oh.”

“C’mon. I know you ain’t got much time. Let me show you around.”

Xander followed him to a set of wood-paneled elevators. The doors in front of them opened as soon as Lindsey pressed the button. They stopped on the third floor and something with purplish scales and red eyes got in. It was wearing a pinstriped skirt and jacket.

Lindsey and Xander got off on the tenth floor. Lindsey smiled and nodded to some of the people they passed in the hall. “This is the Special Projects division,” he said. “I’ve run it for a few years.” He opened a door, revealing a large office with a sweeping view. “And this will be your office if you join us.”

“Very nice.” Xander tried to sound neutral. In fact, it was about four times the size of his office at L&amp;T. All the furniture he currently had probably cost less than just the complicated-looking chair behind the desk in this room. And his current small, dingy window looked out over a parking lot. The windows in here showed the city skyline.

He turned and faced Lindsey. “It’s a nice office. But what is it that you’d want me to do? I’ve already told you, law’s not my thing.”

Lindsey perched his ass on the corner of the desk. “I know. And if you wanted to learn a little somethin’ about the law, we could arrange that.”

“I don’t want to go back to school.”

“Oh, there are alternatives,” Lindsey said enigmatically. “But in any case, we’d want you to help out on some of our construction projects. The firm is involved in quite a lot of real estate on its own, and of course a lot of our clients are buildin’ things.”

Xander shook his head. “You still haven’t explained why me. I’m nothing special.”

Lindsey smiled at him. “Oh, I dunno about that,” he said, his eyes raking up and down Xander’s body. Then he stood and walked to the window.

“I was nothin’ special either. Grew up dirt poor, and my daddy was an even meaner drunk than yours.”

How the hell did this asshole know about Xander’s father?

Lindsey looked over his shoulder at him. “Research, remember?” he said, as if he’d read Xander’s mind.

“I worked my way through community college, piled up loans to get my BA, and then landed a scholarship for law school. Figured I’d be payin’ off my debts for a long time. But Wolfram &amp; Hart recruited me not because of who I was, but because of who I could be.” He turned and spread his arms. “And here I am.”

Xander didn’t respond.

“We see potential in you, too, Xander. You’re doin’ okay now, got a decent job and a nice little condo. Here, you can do more than okay. You can show the world what you can be.”

Fuck.

“But I know you got to get back to L&amp;T, have a little mess to clear up there, don’t you? So let me give you a quick run-down of the bennies, and then we can finish our tour.”

A good part of Xander wanted to punch the smug, arrogant bastard and leave. But he didn’t. He listened.

Lindsey returned to the desk. “Okay. Salary, we’re talkin’ a hundred fifty to start.” Xander’s mouth went dry.

“Full medical, dental, great retirement, of course. Profit-sharing. Four weeks paid vacation a year. Firm’s got places in Hawaii, Vegas, a bunch of other spots, that you can stay in. And then there are the bonuses when a project goes especially well. Like the vamps, if that floats your boat.” He leered a little at that. “Company car. Maybe a nice Benz. Or are you more of a Corvette sort of guy?”

“Porsche.”

Lindsey laughed. “We can do that. Let’s see…building’s got a top-notch gym, plus you get membership at the Phoenix Club, which is practically next door. They got an Olympic-sized pool.

“This firm carries a lot of clout in this town. You wanna get reservations for eight tonight at the restaurant with a two-month wait, or VIP treatment at a club, or maybe you wanna go to a premiere, we can manage that. We handle a lotta celebrities.

“And Xander, we have a bunch of…unusual resources. You grew up in Sunnydale, maybe you know what I’m talkin’ about.” Xander did have a general idea what he meant.

Abruptly, Lindsey stood. “Let’s stop jawin’ so I can show you around.”

By the time Xander got out of the SUV again in front of L&amp;T’s offices, his head was spinning. Lindsey gave him a handshake. “I hope to hear from you soon, Xander.”

Xander sucked on his bottom lip. “I need some time.”

“Sure thing.” And Lindsey waved and drove away.

It was nearly eight by the time Xander left the office and he had a headache. But he’d done all he could for now. The rest was up to the lawyers, he guessed.

He grabbed a burger on the way to the hotel and ate it quickly, although he wasn’t especially hungry. Then, with a deep breath, he walked into his room.

Spike was sitting on the bed and reading. He smiled at Xander and stood. “Can I help you, Master?” he asked. His voice was so sultry that Lesser Xander immediately woke up.

“Okay.”

As he had before, Spike helped him off with his clothes, then brought him the last of the beers from the mini-fridge. Xander took a long swallow. Then he pulled out the clothes he planned to wear tomorrow and started stuffing the rest in his suitcase. When he finished, he looked at Spike, who was standing nearby, his jaw clenched and head deeply bowed.

“Can you draw me a bath, Spike?”

The vampire nodded without raising his head and padded away. A moment later there was the sound of running water.

Xander let Spike attend to him in the tub. It was nice. He couldn’t remember anybody bathing him since he was a little kid. Spike ran the soap carefully over Xander’s skin, and then massaged it in, but Xander batted his hand away when it neared his crotch. “Just a bath, Spike.”

When he was done, Spike toweled him off. It made him feel a little like minor royalty or something.

 

22.

Spike’s stomach was tied up in knots, and it felt like something was stuck in his throat. He berated himself silently. He’d known very well this was coming, hadn’t he? It didn’t help. Master was still in the room with him and already grief and despair were settling over him like a shroud.

After Master’s bath, they stood awkwardly in the room. Master scowled at him, then threw himself down on the bed. “C’mere.”

Spike crawled in next to him, and wished desperately that he could beg the man to just hold him in his arms so that for a few hours, anyway, he could pretend he was safe. But Master told him to get on all fours, so he did.

Master gently rubbed Spike’s rump, kneading the cheeks and then spreading them to run his fingers up and down the crack. His thumb tapped at Spike’s quivering hole, then a finger pressed in, already slicked. Spike wanted to moan and writhe like a whore, but he didn’t.

Master withdrew his finger and shuffled around. Then, almost without warning, Master’s thick cock was pressing against Spike’s sphincter, and then sliding inside. Spike hissed with pain. Plenty of others had taken him with less preparation than this, but Master was especially big, and Spike felt his skin tearing a little as he tried to accommodate him.

Master clutched his hips hard and then started slamming into him, his thrusts fast and deep. It was more punishment than sex, and Spike wasn’t certain which of them Master was punishing. With a few grunts and a muffled cry, Master came, his warm juices bathing Spike’s damaged tissues. Master collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, and then rolled off, onto his side.

Spike remained on hands and knees.

When Master’s breathing calmed, he said, “On your back.”

Spike did as he was told.

Master was staring at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed and his jaw working. Then, more quickly than Spike would have thought possible, he flipped atop Spike. He scooted down in the bed and, with no preamble at all, took Spike’s semi-erect cock into his mouth.

Jesus bloody Christ.

Spike had blowjobs before, of course. Drusilla loved to go down on him. It was a vampire thing, maybe, the oral fixation. He himself would happily suck on Angelus’s meaty cock for hours, and, on rare occasions, Angelus would even do him. Master had allowed him to blow him twice, and that had been mutually enjoyable.

But it had been a long time since he’d been on the receiving end—not since Dru had dumped him for that fungus demon over fifteen years ago. And in over 150 years of existence, Spike had never had a living human mouth around his cock.

It was brilliant.

Master’s mouth was so warm—hot almost—against his cold flesh. He felt like he could warm his entire body if he thrust far enough inside. As Master swallowed him down, he could feel the pulse in his throat. Master’s slightly stubbly cheeks rasped against his skin.

Spike clutched convulsively at the sheets and tried to stifle a howl. He wanted to buck madly into the tight suction, but was afraid to hurt Master or make him choke. Not only would that trigger the chip, but he didn’t want to anger the man who was doing this incredible thing for him. But when Master gently slid his finger into Spike’s still-slick hole, and crooked it just so, Spike lost all control and thrashed madly between Master and the mattress and yowled and came so hard he was momentarily blinded.

Master kissed his cock, kissed his bollocks, then slithered back up and kissed his lips, hard. Then he turned to the side, said “Good night,” and turned out the light.

 

23.

Xander had an early flight. He showered and dressed and threw the last of his belongings into his bags, studiously ignoring the vampire curled desolately on the bed. He placed a couple of twenties on the desk for the maid. He looked around, checking to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. And he picked up his suitcases.

Faster than his eye could track him, Spike was out of the bed, on his knees in front of Xander’s feet. His face was pressed into the carpet and his arms were stretched out in front of him.

“Spike—“

“Please! Please, Master! God, please don’t leave me here.”

“Spike, I can’t—“

Spike looked up at him, his eyes swimming with tears. “Please. Buy me. Take me with you. I’ll be good, Master. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Please, Master, Xander, _please_!”

Xander closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. “I live in Missouri. Vampires are illegal there. I can’t take you home.”

Spike looked at him, his face drawn in anguish.

“Then dust me.” His voice was so faint Xander could barely hear him.

Xander felt like he might vomit. “I’m sorry. I—I can’t. Goodbye, Spike.”

And he closed the door on the sound of the vampire’s hopeless sobbing.

 

24.

Spike was still collapsed in a heap when the maid arrived. She tsked at him. “Levántate,” she said, poking his thigh gently with her foot. Numbly, he stood.

She pulled him into the bath and motioned him into the tub. He stood there like a statue while she changed the linens and vacuumed and dusted the room. He could hear her humming softly.

He didn’t scream when she filled his body with the antiseptic chemicals. He didn’t move when she stuck the tube into the port in his belly and pumped in the pink fluid, drugs and all. He moved obediently to the corner when she told him to, and didn’t struggle when she pulled on the hood and locked it to his collar. And when she slapped his arse three times, he sank into Present.

Ready for the next Master.

 

[Part 3](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/23353.html?#cutid1)


	6. February 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ssh. It's not quite tomorrow here yet, but it is where most of you are, and I have a busy morning. So here's the third installment, in just one post this time.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 3**_  
**Chapter Title:** February 2015   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** Ssh. It's not quite tomorrow here yet, but it is where most of you are, and I have a busy morning. So here's the third installment, in just one post this time.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
****

FEBRUARY 2015

 

1.

He might not have done it if had been March already.

February is the worst month of the year for those in the Midwest. Winter has been going on forever, yet Spring is still just a tantalizing dream. The snow is filthy, the bare trees haven’t yet begun to bud. Gloves are lost, winter boots are scuffed and salt-stained. Those who are forced to park their cars outside have already misplaced or broken a couple of ice scrapers. And the only holiday to break the monotony is Valentine’s Day, which merely mocks those who are single and loveless, those whose latest approximation of a relationship was with a vampire slave they’d then abandoned to his fate.

So maybe that’s why Xander picked up the phone.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

 

2.

Man, he hated moving. It’s not like he really had all that much stuff, and his new employers were paying for a moving company to do all the packing and hauling for him. But still, he didn’t like watching his belongings disappear into boxes, despised driving across the country in the Honda he would soon be getting rid of, loathed living out of suitcases again while his worldly goods were being transported.

The weather was terrible for most of his trip, too. Mile after mile of unplowed snow in Kansas, tracks so deeply grooved into it by semis that his poor little car could hardly change lanes. Sleet outside of Denver. Black ice in Utah. He’d never been so glad to descend into the smog of the LA basin.

The firm had given him an apartment to stay in until he found someplace more permanent. Lindsey was supposed to meet him on Tuesday to give him the keys; he wouldn’t have to start work until the following week, so he’d have a little time to get settled. Lindsey said it was a nice place and he’d like it.

Xander arrived on Sunday, though. He’d already booked room 1256 and his heart was in his throat as he keyed the lock and threw open the door.

But it was immediately obvious that something was wrong.

The vampire Presenting in the corner was hooded, of course, but it was definitely not Spike. This one was heavier, more muscular, with a more olive tone to the pale skin.

Xander dropped his bags and picked up the phone.

“Hi. I’ve stayed in this room before.”

“Yes, we have that in our records, Mr. Harris. Is something not to your satisfaction?”

“The vampire. I want Sp—the one that was here before.”

“Just a moment, please, sir.” The desk clerk’s voice was coolly professional.

After several minutes, a new voice came on. “Mr. Harris? This is Raul Contreras, the assistant manager.”

“Yeah, hi.”

“I understand you were asking about the vampire that you’d used before.”

“Yes.”

“Is the one in the room now not satisfactory? Because we have—“

“I’m sure it’s fine. But I want the other one.”

“Sir, I’m afraid that vampire is no longer available.”

“Does someone else have him tonight? Because I’m willing—“

“No, that’s not it. It’s been sold.”

Xander collapsed onto the bed. “Sold?”

“Yes. Last month. It had become somewhat…erratic…in its behavior. I’m sure you can understand that that’s unacceptable.”

Xander fought to keep his voice from cracking. “Who did you sell him to?”

“Mmm, usually we work with Walker &amp; Sons.”

Xander was silent.

“Sir? Would you like me to check and see what others are available tonight? Perhaps we can find you—“

“No. No.” Xander covered his face with his hand. “How about…. Just switch me to a without room, okay? Is one of the Monaco suites free?”

 

3.

Lindsey met him in the hotel lobby bright and early Tuesday morning. His smile was broad. He had a large manila envelope in his hand.

“Xander! You made it!” As if Xander might have gotten lost in the wilds of Colorado or something.

“Hi, Lindsey.”

“You look like shit, man. You okay?”

“Just…tired. Moving sucks.”

“Well, you’ve got a few days to relax, anyway, before we put you to work.”

He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “Here ya go,” he said, handing them to Xander. “Directions to the place are in the envelope. It’s nice. Fully furnished. That’s gonna work okay?”

“Yeah. Most of my crap wasn’t worth moving anyway. I figure I’ll start fresh when I find my own place.”

“Great. But feel free to stay as long as you want in this apartment. Usually we give it to employees who are visiting for a while from our other offices, but we can always put them up someplace else.”

“Thanks.”

Lindsey handed over the envelope. “There’s also some other papers in here for you to look over before next week. Your contract’s in there, little summary of some of the stuff you’ll be working on at first, that kind of shit.”

“Okay.”

“Look, if you need anything, just give me call, okay? I can set you up with whatever you need. Or maybe if you just want some company.” There was that slight leer again, that long look at Xander’s body. No way. Lindsey was pretty hot, actually, but he was not going to get involved with his new boss. Even he was smart enough to know that that way lay trouble.

“Thanks, Lindsey. I’ll probably just see you Monday.”

“Cool. We’ll get you set up with a car and everything then, too.”

“Great.”

They shook hands and Lindsey was turning to leave when Xander called out, “Hey, Lindsey?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Do you know anything about a company called Walker &amp; Sons?”

Lindsey frowned for a moment. “Walker…. The slavers?”

Xander winced. “Yeah.”

“Sure. They’re our clients.”

Wonderful.

“You lookin’ for a vamp already, Xan?”

“Well, sort of. It’s…it’s kind of a long story.”

“Maybe you can tell me sometime over a drink. But hang on—“ Lindsey pulled out his electronic assistant and pressed some buttons. “I just texted you their address and phone number. They don’t have a retail place. They mostly do wholesale and auctions, you know.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“See ya.”

Back in his suite, Xander opened the envelope. The apartment was in West Hollywood. He snorted. That was convenient. He wondered if Lindsey had done that on purpose, housing his recently-hired fag in gay central. Though by all appearances, Lindsey played for the same team.

Xander stuffed the rest of the papers back inside. He’d look at them later.

He pulled out his phone and retrieved Lindsey’s message, then dialed the number it contained.

“Hello, Walker &amp; Sons.”

“Hi. I was…I was looking for a particular vampire. I believe you bought hi—bought it last month.”

“Do you have its ID number?”

“Uh, no.”

“I’m afraid without that there’s no way for me to look it up in the system.”

“I can tell you who you bought it from.”

“I’m sorry. We can’t search the database like that.”

“So there’s no way to tell where it is?”

“Not without the ID.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

“Sir? Our next auction is in three weeks. If the vampire was purchased in January, and it wasn’t sold to a bulk customer, then it’ll probably be up for sale then.”

Bulk customers. Xander wonders who those might be. Hotels like this one. Maybe worse.

“Um, when is this auction?”

The woman gave him the date and time. It would be in Modesto, of all godforsaken places.

Heavy-hearted, Xander checked out. He threw his bags into his car and drove to West Hollywood.

It was a really nice apartment. It was on the fifth floor with views of a pretty courtyard. It had two bedrooms, but was very large. Probably about 2500 square feet, he’d guess. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the floors were covered in thick carpeting, and the kitchen looked to be state of the art. There were huge tvs in the living room and both bedrooms, and the shower in the master bath was one of those with about a zillion different shower heads of various shapes and heights.

There was a bottle of Macallan 18 on the kitchen counter, with a post-it attached: _Enjoy! –LM_ .

Xander opened the Gaggenau refrigerator. Somebody had stocked it with Heineken and bottled water. He took out a bottle and spent a few minutes trying to find the bottle opener. Ah, there it was.

When he’d finished the beer, he decided to take a walk. It had looked as if there were several restaurants and shops within a couple of blocks. He needed to get some groceries and some new clothes for work. He considered stopping for lunch, too, then thought about Spike, who was now…somewhere. Anywhere. Doing Christ knows what. And he wasn’t hungry any more.

 

4.

The slave whined and wagged its arse as much as its restraints allowed. The mask that covered part of its head kept it from seeing or hearing anything, but it knew a Master had approached it. It could smell him, could feel the heat radiating from his body. Sometimes if the slave moved enthusiastically enough, a Master would fill its aching, needy hole with a finger or a cock or an object of some kind. It was never enough to satisfy the itch, not really, but it was something. It was all the slave had, and its thoughts were just clear enough for it to despise itself for it.

Dimly, it remembered that for a while, its head had been clearer. It had had a name. There had been a Master who treated it kindly and granted it extraordinary freedoms.

But that Master had left.

And then there were others, not kindly at all, and the slave had struggled to obey without losing the small bit of itself it had regained.

It had failed.

Someone said “retraining” and they took it to the Bad Place and that had been…unendurable.

The humans in white had done something to the slave there—done many things, really—and now its cock was always hard and leaking and its bollocks were always aching and it needed, needed, needed to be used and stuffed, needed it always and whatever its Masters gave it was never sufficient to stop the need for even one moment.

The humans had masked the slave and put it in chains and taken it away from the Bad Place and now it was here, but it didn’t know where here was. It was bent forward over a metal frame of some kind, its legs spread and its arse high in the air. It was attached tightly to the metal at its neck, ankles, knees, and waist, and its hands were cuffed behind its back. Its chin was propped on more metal and there was a device holding its jaws wide open so the Masters could use its mouth whenever they wished. Its throbbing cock hung beneath it where there was no hope of any friction to relieve it. The only movement it could make was a slight swaying of its hips.

A tube had been attached to the port in its belly, and the Masters must have been occasionally feeding it through the tube, because sometimes its gnawing hunger was temporarily abated.

But the other hunger, the one that lived lower in its body, the one the humans had created within it, that one was always raging.

Mostly, the Masters left it alone. That was bad. It would moan wordlessly and futilely try to hump thin air.

But sometimes a Master or two would approach. That was worse, because then the slave whimpered and made garbled begging noises and desperately waved its arse in hopes of being touched, of being fucked.

And, very rarely, a Master would bugger it, or at least would slap its buttocks or lash them with a crop. And that was even worse, because then the slave would cry with pathetic gratitude, and move all the more frantically, begging for harder and more.

Now the Master ran a finger down the slave’s spine, all the way to its lower back, and then down, into its cleft. But when he got to the torn and greedy sphincter, the finger halted. The slave bucked as much as it could, trying to impel the digit just a little farther, just an inch or two. But the finger moved away, and the slave received a stinging clout across its left buttock. The human left.

The worst, though, the very worst, was when the slave had occasional small flashes of insight, and it realized what it was, and what it was doing, and what it would never be again.

 

5.

The contract was nothing special. No bartering of souls, no suspicious Latin phrases, no requirement for signatures in blood. Just a description of the salary and benefits, plus an agreement to refrain from revealing confidential matters (who would he even reveal them to?) and a one year non-compete clause. Xander didn’t see any problem with signing it.

The other papers outlined his initial responsibilities, and there was nothing fishy there, either. Wolfram &amp; Hart was involved in several construction projects, both on its own behalf and on behalf of clients. Xander was to look over the details in the paperwork, making sure that the game plans were reasonable and doable. He might do some site visits as well to make recommendations. This was pretty similar to what he’d been doing with L&amp;T. It still didn’t explain why they’d wanted him so badly or the justification for his generous salary, but maybe that would become clearer once he began work.

By the end of the week, Xander had settled in. His boxes had arrived, he’d bought a couple of suits that cost more than his first car, and he’d figured out how to use the stove. He’d explored the neighborhood a bit and discovered he liked it. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to afford an apartment just like the one he was borrowing, but he had begun scouring the ads for something nearby.

He’d bought a one-month pass to a gym that was just down the street. He knew he’d have facilities available to him when he started work next week, but it was handy to have one near home, too. Plus, this one had an exceptionally high quota of good-looking men, many of whom were blatantly checking him out, and all of whom had the additional advantage of not being co-workers.

So things were going well, and life would have been very good indeed, except for the dreams that continued to haunt him at night, and the voices in his head that plagued him during the day. It was the same old story, over and over: How could he have fucked a vampire? How could he have fucked and abandoned _Spike_?

He’d finished the Heineken and the expensive bottle of scotch, and was now working his way through a fifth of Stolichnaya, a fifth of Cuervo, and a couple six-packs of Stella Artois.

The apartment came with an internet connection, wi-fi and all, so he spent some time online, doing a little research on his new employer, and doing some more on Walker &amp; Sons. He didn’t find much on either.

Wolfram &amp; Hart had primary offices in LA, Rome, London, Tokyo, Beijing, Buenos Aires, and Cape Town, and smaller offices nearly everywhere. Its origins were cloudy at best, but it had certainly been around for over two centuries. It had its fingers in a lot of pots and represented a great many wealthy and influential people. He didn’t find anything about its demonic connections, but that didn’t really surprise him.

Walker &amp; Sons had originally been in the import-export business, but had switched primarily to slave trading in 2002. It was headquartered here in LA, and was the second biggest slave trader in the U.S. In addition to hotels, it supplied mining companies and research labs. It was the primary supplier as well for Tanager, the company that was currently planning on building a housing colony on the moon. And Walker &amp; Sons conducted large quarterly auctions that were open to the public.

He sighed and shut down his laptop. He hadn’t learned anything useful. Certainly nothing that was going to help him get Spike back.

It was Friday, and he needed to get out of the house.

He pulled on a pair of tight jeans and a burgundy silk tee that he knew showed off his muscles to their best advantage. He only had to walk two blocks to get to Mary’s, a place he’d noticed as he was surveying the neighborhood. It was busy tonight, and the crowd was just right—not too young, not too old, not too, well, LA.

He sat at the bar and the cute bartender, a thirtyish blond with a tattoo of Wonder Woman on the inside of his right forearm, smiled at him. “What can I get you?”

Xander ordered a boilermaker. He swallowed the whiskey in one gulp but then nursed the beer for a while, looking casually around the place. He was just finishing the last sips, and had signaled for another, when a tall, deeply tanned guy with carefully gelled hair sat down next to him. He looked like he could be an actor. Hell, around here, maybe he was.

The guy flashed inhumanly white teeth at him. “Hi. I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Nope. I’m new to the neighborhood.”

The guy stuck out his hand. “Well, welcome, then. I’m Ryan.”

“Xander,” he said, shaking. Ryan had a nice, firm grip. Big hands.

“Can I buy this round, Xander?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Xander tossed back his shot and smiled, as Ryan took a slow sip of his white wine. “Where you from?”

“Originally, just up north a little. Recently, Kansas City.”

“Where everything’s up to date?”

Xander fought the urge to roll his eyes. “How about you, Ryan?”

“San Fernando Valley native, actually. But I’ve lived here for, oh, over ten years.”

Xander swallowed some of his beer and ignored the way Ryan was obviously checking him out. If he didn’t want men to give him the once-over, he shouldn’t have come to Mary’s.

“What do you do for a living, Xander? Are you a model?”

Xander nearly choked at that. Where had this guy dug up that old chestnut?

“No, I’m in construction.”

Ryan cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Like, with the yellow hat and the tool belt?”

Ryan obviously had images of the Village People flashing before his eyes.

“Well, nowadays more with a suit and tie.” Xander grinned. “And you?”

“I’m an actor.” Bingo.

“Really? What would I have seen you in? ‘Cause I don’t watch much tv.” And that was a blatant lie.

“Let’s see…. Recently I was in an episode of CSI. I played a guy whose sister got murdered by her husband. And last year, I was in a tv movie about a woman with Alzheimers. I was her doctor. I’m working on a pilot for a sitcom right now. Oh, and I’ve been doing some voice work.”

“Wow. That’s really interesting.” It really wasn’t.

“So, Xander. Think you might like some company to show you around town a little?”

Xander was going to say yes. Ryan was really good-looking and Xander hadn’t had gotten laid since…since December. It’d be easy to take this guy back to his fancy apartment and have a nice, hot fuck between the Frette sheets he’d bought the other day. But when he pictured himself in bed, the image that popped into his head was of milky skin and azure eyes.

Xander set his glass on the bar and stood. “Thanks for the offer, Ryan. Maybe some other time. I, uh, have sort of a lot going on right now.”

Ryan scowled a little, then shrugged. “Okay, Xander. I come here pretty often, so when your schedule clears, well, I might be around.”

Xander patted him lightly on the shoulder and walked out into the night.

 

6.

He was settling in to his new job. It was a little strange dealing with all the demons all the time. He hadn’t done much of that since Sunnydale. But he was getting used to it. Most of them weren’t so different from humans. Just scalier. Or more mucousy. Or…whatever.

Lindsey’s boss gave him a serious case of the creeps. Maybe he had the same effect on Lindsey, because Lindsey was always slightly nervous when Holland Manners was around. Fortunately, he was around very rarely. Mostly he’d just poke his head in, smile broadly, and then leave. Xander supposed he wanted to remind his underlings that he was keeping an eye on them.

He was having an even harder time adjusting to the vampires. His old aversion to them hadn’t gone away, but now it was overlaid with revulsion for the way the miserable creatures were dragged around on leashes, cowering and battered. One of the junior partners had two slaves he towed behind him, a pair of identical twins with huge cocks and desolate eyes. Xander had heard rumors that there were powerful people who would pay to have certain victims kidnapped and deliberately turned; he thought about those rumors now and then as he witnessed the endless parade of beautiful, undead flesh.

There were times he had a nearly overwhelming urge to rush around with a stake, turning all the slaves into small piles of dust.

But other parts of his job were going very well. He liked the work. It was challenging and interesting. The gym in the building turned out to be excellent, as was the pool at the Phoenix. His 911 made even LA freeways almost fun to drive on, and he spent two Saturdays in a row spinning around the windingest canyon roads he could find. And once or twice a week Lindsey would take the entire Special Projects team out to lunch someplace obscenely expensive, the kinds of places where A-list stars routinely sat at the next table over.

Lindsey had invited him for drinks after work, too, but so far Xander had declined. His excuse was that he had a lot of things to catch up on, but the truth is he was still uncomfortable around the guy. He was friendly enough, but Xander wasn’t sure what his intentions were for him. One afternoon a tall woman from the criminal division smiled at Xander in the elevator. Lindsey moved in closer to Xander and growled at her, “Stay away, bitch.” Xander felt like he’d been marked as Lindsey’s territory.

He’d had a couple of leads on apartments, but Lindsey urged him to take his time. The firm didn’t need its place back any time soon.

In all, Xander would have been relatively happy, if it weren’t for the misery that bathed him every time he thought about Spike. And that happened about a hundred times a day.

 

[Part 4a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/23626.html#cutid1)


	7. March 2015 (part 4a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's is in two sections. Xander attends an auction.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 4a**_  
**Chapter Title:** March 2015 (part 4a)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's is in two sections. Xander attends an auction.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts****

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**MARCH 2015**

 

1.

Modesto was a mostly charmless little city 300 miles up the road from LA.

He’d hit heavy traffic all the way through the Grapevine, and then endured the nearly featureless landscape of the southern San Joaquin Valley. Even in his new car, it was not an enjoyable drive.

The auction was to be on Saturday, so he’d taken a half day on Friday. Lindsey hadn’t minded. He knew Xander had been putting in tons of extra hours, and a lot of people took off early at the end of the week. Xander had simply explained to Lindsey that he had some business to attend to out of town.

He’d booked a room at the Doubletree, the only real highrise in town, mainly because the auction would be held at the adjoining Modesto Centre Plaza. It annoyed Xander when places in the U.S. self-consciously used British spelling. As if someone might mistake Modesto for Liverpool or something. At least there was a brewpub across the street, and Xander had a decent meal there.

Back in his room that night, nervously pacing back and forth, he wondered why the hell Walker &amp; Sons picked this spot for their auction. Maybe it was sort of convenient for buyers from San Francisco and Sacramento, he supposed. Whatever.

He just desperately hoped he’d find Spike tomorrow, because if he didn’t, he had no idea where to look next.

 

2.

It reminded him a little of the home and garden shows he used to work now and then for L&amp;T.

The first big room was full of booths. Only instead of selling storm windows or plastic decking, these people were hawking accessories for slaves. Chains, cuffs, and restraints of all descriptions. Masks and hoods. Gags and muzzles. Racks and hammocks. Canes, whips, and paddles. Plugs, dildos, and vibrators. Electrical stimulators. Clamps. Cock rings. Collars. Cages. Jewelry for piercing various body parts. Leashes. And a variety of different synthetic blood mixes and drugs that were guaranteed to make slaves more tractable, more or less sexually responsive, more energetic, and so on.

It was a little dizzying.

Many of the vendors had slaves on hand to demonstrate their wares. Right near the door, a female with long, silky black hair was chained into a stockade-like device and impaled by a motorized metal rod. A few booths down, a hogtied male suspended from a metal framework was screaming into an enormous penis gag while the salesman zapped his genitals with a cattle prod-like device.

Xander shuddered and moved to Harvest Hall, where the slaves were kept, and where the auction would be held.

It was loud and crowded. Humans were clustered in small knots around the slaves, each of which was chained to a wheeled frame that spread its legs widely and suspended its arms above its head. Also attached to each frame was a small sign that listed the slave’s ID number and any features the auctioneers thought potential buyers might want to know. People were wandering from slave to slave, poking and prodding, reading the signs and making notes on pads of paper. The slaves were mostly silent, their heads bowed, their eyes vacant.

As Xander walked farther into the room, he saw that the merchandise was organized in broad categories. Close to the main door was a small section of non-vampires. There were a few vigories, some grathnar, several brachens, and some others Xander didn’t recognize. The rest of the room was vampires, females on the left and males on the right. Beyond that, they seemed to be arranged according to modifications that had been made to them or uses to which they might be put. A group of males had been castrated or completely desexed. Another section had vamps that were especially large and muscular.

Xander wandered the male half of the room, praying silently that he’d find what he’d come for. He’d been walking for close to fifteen minutes, trying to ignore the way his stomach was clenched in revulsion, when he came to an area in which every slave had an erection, and every slave was writhing and moaning in his bonds. Xander looked at the sign affixed to the nearest frame:

 

_V4972_

_Born 1965_

_Sired 1987_

_*5’11”_

_*185 lbs_

_* Super-Enhanced™!_

_* Understands English, Spanish, and Portuguese_

 

V4972 had short black hair and pleading brown eyes. There was a green and red tattoo of a dragon on one of his biceps, and that was a bit surprising. The slavers usually had any tattoos removed. As soon as Xander stepped near, the vampire started frantically swaying his hips, trying to get his leaking, inflamed-looking cock closer to Xander.

Super-Enhanced. Fuck.

Xander kept on looking.

About thirty seconds later, he came to about a half dozen men standing around a slave. One of the men was holding a little girl by the hand. She was clutching a stuffed rabbit and playing idly with one of her ponytails.

Xander’s breath caught in his throat.

The slave at the center of this circle was Spike.

The hair had been allowed to grow again on his head, but instead of bleached and slicked back, it was in short, light brown curls. The rest of him was bare; Xander remembered hearing that the process used to remove hair from slaves’ bodies was permanent. His skin shone with some kind of oil. Spike’s nipples had been pierced and set with small silver hoops and a larger silver ring was inserted in the crown of his cock. His cock was fully erect, glistening with precome, and nearly purple. His pelvis was rocking back and forth, his eyes were closed, and he was making a piteous mewling sound into a small blue ball gag.

One of the men—a heavy-set, fortyish guy wearing a baseball cap—slapped Spike’s rump, and Spike moaned and tried to push his ass backwards.

Xander swallowed and moved closer so he could read the sign.

 

_V17_

_Born 1853_

_Sired 1880_

_*5’9”_

_*150 lbs_

_* Super-Enhanced™!_

_*Understands English, Spanish, French, German, Italian, Latin, Luganda, Swahili, and several demon languages_

_*Trained in anma, hilot, shiatsu, and Swedish massage_

 

The guy with the baseball cap slapped Spike again and then, laughing, yanked on one of his nipple rings. Spike’s eyes flew open as he tried uselessly to move away from the pain. Then he caught sight of Xander and froze.

He blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear his sight. Then he shook his head, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing, and he bowed his head deeply.

Xander wanted very badly to say something to him, but a Walker &amp; Sons employee was standing just a few feet away, watching. She wore a denim shirt with the company logo on it in red and her blonde hair was done up in a ponytail. She was carrying an electronic assistant in one hand. She smiled at Xander. “Do you have any questions about this slave, sir?”

“Um, can you tell me what ‘Super-Enhanced’ means?”

“Sure!” She had dimples. “It’s a new process that’s unique to Walker &amp; Sons. We take the sexual responses of the vampires and bump them up, way over their naturally high levels. At the same time, though, we make it nearly impossible for them to achieve climax.”

“So.…”

“So they’re like this all the time,” she said, motioning toward Spike, who was whining and straining his muscles, trying to touch the tip of his cock against one of the humans’ hands. The man was deliberately holding his hand just out of reach.

“A lot of our customers find the Super-Enhanced vamps fun as decorative items, although of course you can use them for other things, too.”

Xander wanted to slap the little bitch. “How…how do you do it?”

“Oh, I’m afraid that’s a trade secret, sir,” she said, grinning coquettishly.

“Is it…is it permanent?”

“Yes, as long as the slave is given Toyboost with its feed.”

“Toyboost?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a highly concentrated liquid product that can be easily mixed in with standard vamp synthblood. We provide a six-month supply free with all Super-Enhanced purchases.”

“And if you don’t give them this stuff?”

“Then their responses diminish to stock levels after a week or so. But if the Toyboost is resumed, they jump right up again!”

Xander watched as Spike squirmed in his chains.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Sure!” she chirped.

She wandered off to talk to a woman who was inspecting the tall, very dark-skinned vampire to Xander’s left. Xander hovered for a moment, uncertain what to do, when the loudspeaker crackled.

“Ladies and gentlemen! The Hall will be closing in fifteen minutes. Sales begin at one o’clock. Please stop by one of the tables near the entrance to get a schedule and to register. Thank you!”

Xander took a last look at the pale, thrashing figure and headed for the door. He went to one of the green cloth-covered tables and waited in line for a minute or so. Then a smiling gray-haired woman entered his name and credit information into a computer and handed him a bid paddle imprinted with the company logo and the number 341. She also gave him a stapled set of orange papers.

He exited into the hall and looked at the papers. They listed the auction times by ID number. V17 and about twenty other vampires were set to be sold at 2:30.

It was just before noon, and Xander decided to go have some lunch. He stepped outside the building into the sunlight. It was in the mid-60’s and the sky was bright blue. There was a Mexican place across the street and he went there and ate a burrito. That still left him with time to kill, so he wandered over to a Starbucks and spent an hour or so doing some work on his laptop. Finally, it was time to head back to the auction.

All of the slaves had been cleared out of Harvest Hall, and a tall stage was set up at the far end. About fifty folding chairs were arrayed in front of it, and most of them were full. A bunch of people were standing and watching as well.

The lot of slaves currently being sold were all very young-looking vampires, both male and female. None of them appeared to have been older than sixteen when they were turned. At the moment, the auctioneer was taking bids on a feral-looking girl with stringy hair. She sold for $20,000 to a bald man in his fifties. Xander felt like retching.

Soon the child vamps were led away on leashes, and a new lot was brought in. These were castrated males. As the auctioneer started his patter, Xander found an empty seat close to the front. He checked his list; Spike’s group was next. It took about half an hour to get through this group of wretched slaves, and as the time passed, Xander grew more and more anxious, his knee bouncing so vigorously that he earned a dirty look from the woman sitting next to him.

At last, it was time for Spike’s batch. Twenty vampires were led into the room from a door near the stage. They all had leashes affixed to rings in their weeping cocks, and their hands were cuffed behind their backs. The sales assistants arranged them in a row alongside the stage and ordered them into Kneel. They swayed and moaned as they Knelt, each desperate for a release they were not going to get. Spike was third from the stage.

The first was V4972, the first Super-Enhanced vampire Xander had looked at. He was led onto the stage and the auctioneer barked out a quick series of commands, all of which he obeyed perfectly. His eyes were fearful. Then bidding began. As the vampire’s eyes darted around the room, he was soon sold to a thin man and his teenaged son for $25,000. The son whooped quietly and hugged his father. Then the next slave was brought on stage.

Finally, Spike was dragged up the stairs. His eyes were downcast. The auctioneer ordered him to Kneel, to Stand, to Beg, to Present. As Spike was in Present, the man came up behind him and jammed a long metal pole into his rectum. Xander gritted his teeth as Spike immediately began fucking himself on the rod, and the man extolled the benefits of Super-Enhancement and the quality of Spike’s ass. Then he withdrew the staff and ordered Spike to Stand. The audience laughed as the auctioneer stroked Spike’s cock, and as Spike frantically bucked into the man’s hand.

Then the man walked a few paces away and bidding began.

Xander didn’t jump in right away. He had a brand-new platinum Visa card, but his finances weren’t unlimited, even with the new job. Most of what he had at the moment—the car, the apartment—really belonged to Wolfram &amp; Hart. He did have some money put away from the sale of his condo in Kansas City; he just hoped it was enough.

A fat man with a beard bid $10,000, then a man in a cowboy hat bid $15,000. A young man in a suit and sunglasses raised his arm at $20,000, then Beard at $30,000. Suit bid $35,000, and there was a pause, so Xander finally lifted his paddle at $40,000. Suit went to $50,000. Christ, Xander couldn’t afford much more. But he bid at $60,000, and then heaved an enormous sigh of relief when Suit shook his head. The auctioneer shouted “Sold!” and Spike was led away. He never looked up to see who bought him.

Sixty thousand bucks. Well, he didn’t really have anything else to spend the money on, did he?

On slightly shaky legs, Xander left the room and made his way down the corridor to the small room where customers were to pick up their purchases. He handed the paddle to a smiling young man who punched some numbers into an electronic assistant. The man handed him a bill of sale, which Xander signed. A moment later, another man appeared from a door at the other end of the room. He was leading Spike by the leash attached to his cock. Spike’s hands were still chained behind him, and he had a plastic bag slung around his neck.

“Sir, that bag contains your six month supply of Toyboost, along with directions on its use. There’s one week’s worth of synthblood, too. There’s also a manual on vampire care, the keys to the cuffs and collar, and information on how to order more Toyboost when you need it.”

Xander smiled wanly at the guy and took the leash when it was handed to him. Spike still hadn’t looked up.

“We’ve already keyed its chip with your ownership information. Now, are you sure you don’t want us to hold it for you until dark?”

“No. Uh, now is good.”

“Enjoy your purchase, sir!”

Swearing softly under his breath, Xander led Spike back down the hall. A door led to an interior walkway that connected to the hotel. Xander had already checked out, but there was a café there where he figured they could stay until sunset.

The café was nearly empty. Xander found a booth near the back and sat down. Spike Knelt at his side. Xander dropped the leash and went to the counter, where he ordered a big coffee. He took it back to the booth and opened up his computer. He wanted to talk to Spike, but not here, not with an audience. And Spike still hadn’t seemed to register his presence. Instead, the vampire kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his hips moving slightly back and forth.

Xander caught up on some work and drank several more coffees. He’d have enough caffeine in him to just about fly home, but he was going to have to stop and piss more than once. At last, he glanced at his watch and saw that the sun was almost down. He shut down the computer and, with a light tug on the leash, headed for the parking garage.

Xander really loved his new car. It handled beautifully, and it was a lot more fun than his usual run of boring sedans. But it wasn’t very practical for transporting vampires.

Xander fished in the bag around Spike’s neck until he found the key, then unlocked the manacles. He unhooked the leash and removed the plastic bag from around Spike’s neck. He opened the passenger side door, threw the leash and cuff and bag inside, and softly said, “Get in, Spike.”

Spike’s head snapped up and he stared at Xander with wide eyes. His mouth was open and he began panting and trembling.

“M-M-Master?” he whispered, then shook his head and blinked some more.

Xander rested a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “Yeah, it’s me. Xander Harris. Do you remember me?”

“Kind. K-k-kind Master.” Spike was clearly struggling to speak, and Xander wondered what sorts of drugs they’d been giving him. Xander wasn’t sure what Spike was trying to say. Kind Master?

Xander looked into those lost-looking blue eyes and tried to convey a sense of safety. “Spike, I just bought you. Do you understand?”

“Master’s n-now?”

“Yeah, you’re mine now.”

Spike closed his eyes and breathed deeply several times. Then he sank to his knees and pressed his forehead to the dirty concrete floor. “Th-th-thank you, M-M-Master. Th-th—“

Xander knelt and gently raised Spike’s shoulders. “You don’t have to do that.”

Spike just stared at him in confusion.

“Let’s go home, okay? Get in the car.”

Spike stared at the Porsche’s interior, obviously uncertain about how to arrange himself. Finally he crawled inside, with his knees on the floor and his body facing the passenger seat. It looked awkward as hell.

“Are you going to be comfortable like that? We have a long drive.”

“Y-yes, Master.” Well, he should have known that’s the answer he’d get.

Xander tossed his small travel bag onto the seat and shut the door. He went around to the driver’s side and buckled himself in. Then he started up the engine and pulled out of the garage.

 

3.

The slave tried to look at Master out of the corner of its eyes. Was it really him? Did it really belong to the kind Master now? That seemed too much to hope for. Maybe it was sleeping. Sometimes it had strange dreams, dreams of things that might have been Before.

It wondered how long it had been since it had served the kind Master. There had been the time in the Bad Place, and then in the other place, where it remained masked. Then the Masters had unchained it and it had hurt to move after being unable to for so long, but it had felt good, too. It was dragged along a cold floor. And then after only having had a few minutes of relative freedom, it had been bound on its back in a small, airless box. It couldn’t budge at all, and the mask was not removed.

After some measureless time, it felt the entire box being shifted. A long period passed during which the box swayed and bumped. Then the box was opened, and the slave was unfettered, pulled out, and thrown onto the floor. It had immediately started humping the ground, nearly feverish with the chance for blessed friction on its throbbing cock. But it was pulled to its feet, a leash was attached to its collar, and it was led, stumbling, away.

It had screamed when its hands were uncuffed. Its arms had been fastened behind it for so very long. But the Masters attached them to something overhead, and then they kicked its legs apart and chained them as well.

A hand teased at its right nipple, and the slave arched into the touch. A moment later, there was a sharp pain, however. The process was repeated on the left. Then a hand grabbed its cock very tightly and the slave groaned from a mixture of pleasure and pain and fear. The slave cried out in agony as another sharpness lanced through the head of its cock.

Then, at long last, the mask was removed.

For several moments, the light and sounds were overwhelming after so long in darkness and silence. Eventually, however, the slave was able to take in its surroundings.

It was in a very large room. All around it, dozens of other slaves were bound in the same position it was. The scent of fear permeated the large hall, and the slave realized where it was. It had been sold at auction before.

Perhaps several hours later, Masters fed it through its belly port and rubbed its body with oil—the slave squirmed frenziedly into that sensation—and buckled a gag in its mouth. It was left there for a long time.

Eventually, a great many humans came into the room, and they stared at the slave and pawed and poked and stroked and teased it. It hadn’t realized it was still capable of shame, but it was. The expressions on the humans’ faces as the slave bucked miserably into the air were worse than any lashes against its skin. It had tried, with little success, to block everything out, to bury itself deep within its own head.

For a minute, it thought it saw the kind Master. But it must have been mistaken. It knew it would never see him again.

The auction itself had been a blur. What difference did it make whom it belonged to?

Ah, but now it imagined it was in a car and it was warm and it could move around a bit and that was the kind Master next to it. Soon it would wake up.

But it didn’t. What did happen, though, is the pulse in its lower belly became more demanding, and the slave became aware that its hands were free. It knew it would be punished for touching itself, and it tried with all its will not to, but its resistance did not hold. It grasped its cock roughly and started rubbing hard.

“Spike!”

The slave flinched but it couldn’t stop.

“Jesus, knock it off! You’re distracting me.”

The slave hunched into itself as much as it could and whined, but its hand kept moving.

The car stopped.

Master fished around near the slave’s feet and found the cuffs. He grabbed the slave’s hands and, almost gently, chained them behind it again. “I’m sorry. I know you can’t help it, but I’m going to get in an accident if you keep that up.”

But the slave had already discovered that it could bump its cock directly into the seat in front of it. It wanted to be good, it really, really did, but it couldn’t control its body. “S-s-sorry, M-M-Master! Can’t…can’t…. Sorry! Please….” It couldn’t form the words to beg for mercy, even.

Master didn’t look angry, though. “We need to deal with this. I can’t drive and you’re going to hurt yourself.” He sighed heavily, and the slave felt tears slipping down its face. If this was real—if the kind Master had, indeed, bought it—now he was going to send it back.

“Okay, let’s try this. Just sit in the seat.” Master lifted the bag out of the way.

The slave looked at Master in confusion.

“Sit. Put your butt down and just…sit like a person, okay?”

With a small bit of difficulty, the slave managed to wiggle around as Master had commanded. It was very strange—slaves weren’t permitted in this position. For a flash of a moment, despite the fact that its hands were still chained behind it, the slave felt almost like…like a man. Alarmed, it ducked its head. It was in enough trouble as it is; it wouldn’t do to let Master know about this audacious notion.

Master placed his luggage near the slave’s feet and leaned over and buckled the seatbelt around the slave. Then he picked up the leash and, after looking at it for a moment, tied the strip of leather quite tightly around the slave’s chest and the seat back. He fished around in his small black bag and pulled out a pair of flannel pajama trousers. He tore them in half and used each piece to tie one of the slave’s legs to the brackets under the car seat. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all, but the only parts of the body the slave could move now were its head and knees. It could buck its hips into the air as well, but only slightly. There was no way for it to rub anything against its cock.

Master again set his large, warm hand on the slave’s shoulder. “Is that gonna work?”

The slave nodded and tried to convey its gratitude. “Th-th-thank—“

“You don’t have to thank me for tying you up.” Master shook his head and slipped the car into gear.

 

4.

The landscape wasn’t much to look at, especially in the dark. But it was unutterably better than being transported crammed into a box, and it was so very much more than the slave had been allowed to see for…for a very long time. There were shopping centers and clusters of homes punctuated by long stretches of flat fields. It was enough, anyway, to help distract the slave from the maddening itch in its groin, and it was able to restrict itself to an occasional small fidgeting in its seat.

And the seat felt nice. It was soft leather, cupped around the slave’s sensitive skin like a giant hand. It felt almost like being held in someone’s arms, and the car heater was sending warm puffs of air across the slave’s legs and torso.

Then Master turned on the radio. Hadn’t Master once let the slave listen to music to amuse itself, even choose which station it wanted to hear? It had a hazy memory of this, but it seemed preposterous that a slave would be allowed such a liberty. Now, though, Master turned up the volume and hummed along, tapping his fingers and sometimes actually singing for a moment or two. He was a terrible singer but the slave was nearly entranced with the sound of him.

Master stopped once to fill up the tank. He left the slave alone in the car to go inside and pay, and the slave took the opportunity to breathe deeply, inhaling the lingering scents of the man. He smelled just as the slave remembered the kind Master smelling, but perhaps the slave was imagining that, too.

When Master returned he had a bag of food in his hand, and he pulled the car away from the pumps and parked nearby to eat. Hamburger and chips. The slave wondered if it had ever eaten human food, Before.

Master finished his meal and tossed the wrappers in a rubbish bin. Then he smiled at the slave, and his smile was warm and kind. “We’re over halfway there, Spike.”

Almost as soon as they pulled out onto the freeway, the road started to rise through some scrubbly mountains. Traffic had lightened up by now, too; most of the rest of the vehicles were big lorries that Master went rushing on by. Despite the continuing, maddening itch in its loins, the slave couldn’t remember having been this content, and it refused to allow its debilitated brain to consider what fate had in store for it when the journey ended.

They descended into a big valley with loads more houses and fast food places and shopping centers and, once, a huge amusement park. And then they were winding among a maze of highways, and Master took an off-ramp and, some time later, he parked the car in an underground car park.

“Home, sweet home,” he said. He got out of the car and stretched hugely. Then he came around and opened the passenger door and untied and unbuckled the slave.

“Come on out, Spike.”

The slave stood beside the car while Master removed the handcuffs and, grimacing, attached the lead to the slave’s collar. The slave was surprised that it wasn’t to be lead by the ring in its cock. “Sorry,” Master said. “There’s a leash law.” Master grabbed his other belongings, locked up the car, and started to walk away.

The slave dropped to hands and knees and followed, but then Master stopped and scowled. “You can walk, okay?” So the slave rose to its feet and, as it trailed behind Master, enjoyed the novel sensation of being able to see more of its surroundings than the floor in front of it.

Master led them into a lift, then down a short corridor. Balancing his things awkwardly, he pulled out a set of keys and unlocked a door. The slave followed him inside, and Master shut the door behind them.

They were in a large flat with dark furniture and abstract paintings on the walls. The carpet was thick and cushiony under the slave’s feet. Master threw his things onto a black leather chair that was nearby and unhooked the leash from the slave’s neck. He threw that aside, too. He placed his hand between the slave’s shoulder blades and gently pushed him toward the kitchen area.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

The slave nodded. It wasn’t certain when it had last been given its feed.

Master opened the large, shiny refrigerator and pulled out a white plastic carton. “I was hoping I really would find you there, so I sort of prepared. It’s just cow, you know, but it’s a damn sight better than that chemical shit, I’m sure.”

He poured some of it into a blue mug, spilling a little on the counter. The slave’s knees nearly gave out when it smelled the contents: blood, real blood. Surely Master didn’t mean—

“You want me to warm it up a little?”

The slave was mute with shock, so Master shrugged and put the cup into the microwave. When the device dinged, he placed the mug on the counter in front of the slave. Then he came behind the slave and removed the handcuffs. “Drink up,” he said.

Another wave of disbelief shot through the slave again, but Master was watching it a little impatiently, so it picked up the mug and took a cautious sip.

It was wonderful. The only thing it had been permitted to swallow recently was semen, and this was so deliciously warm and filling. It drained the mug quickly and Master smiled approvingly.

“You can help yourself whenever you get hungry, all right? Can you do that?” The slave nodded again. “Don’t wait for me to offer. I don’t want you starving yourself. Just let me know when we’re almost out so I can order more. I’ve found a butcher nearby who can get us cow, pig, or goat. Is cow okay?”

He seemed to expect an answer, so the slave said, “Yes, Master.”

Master leaned against the counter and rubbed his face. “Spike, do you understand what’s going on?”

“No, s-sorry, Mas—“

“It’s fine. I’ll explain. I think it’ll make more sense when you get the drugs out of your system anyway.” He took a breath and rubbed his face again. “Man, I’m beat. Okay. I bought you. You’re mine. Permanently, I guess. Nobody’s going to hurt you any more. This is my place, at least for now. I have to work during the day—well, not tomorrow, that’s Sunday—and you can hang out here. I’ll bring you books if you want, and there’s tv, and…. Shit, Spike, I know it’s not much, but it’s gotta be better than that fucking hotel, right?”

The slave responded in the only way it knew how. It dropped to its knees and pressed its face to the floor, brokenly trying to whisper its thanks.

“It’s okay, Spike. It’s not that big—Christ, I need to get some sleep. C’mon, I’ll show you your room.”

The slave stood and followed Master into a bedroom. There was a big bed, covered in a black and gold duvet, and a chest of drawers, and a huge, comfortable-looking plushy chair draped with a gold-colored throw. A telly hung on the wall opposite the bed. The window was covered by thick brocade curtains.

“You can sleep on the bed. And you have your own bathroom if you want to clean up. You can take a bath or shower yourself, can’t you?”

Nod.

“Okay. Get some sleep. We can…talk some more tomorrow, I guess.” Master ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end, and started to walk away. But then he stopped and turned back.

“Uh, Spike? If I leave you like this, are you gonna jerk off?”

The slave bowed its head dejectedly. “Y-y-yes, Master. I c-c-can’t—“

“I know. Fuck. They told me…. You can’t come, you know? It’s this crap they’ve been giving you.”

The slave didn’t know that, although it wasn’t very surprised. No matter how much the Masters had buggered it, it hadn’t been able to achieve release. What would Master do now that it admitted it would be disobedient?

“Look, I don’t care if you touch yourself, but if you keep, uh, rubbing, I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.” He rolled his head up and looked at the ceiling. The he turned his gaze to the slave. “Do you want me to tie you to the bed?”

The slave nodded vigorously. It didn’t like being restrained, but that was so much better than defying Master. Master shrugged. He pulled back the covers and gestured for the slave to get onto the bed.

Master left it there for a few minutes, and then returned, his arms full. He arranged the slave on its back, and used the handcuffs to attach one of its arms to the metal headboard. He attached the other with a length of thick plastic rope, and he used the same kind of rope to tie the slave’s ankles to the foot of the bed.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Want some music?”

“Yes, Master.”

Master switched on the radio on the little table beside the bed, then walked to the door and turned off the light. “See you in the morning,” he said, and left.

The slave couldn’t help thrusting its pelvis into the air a little, but there was nothing to rub against, and at least it wasn’t being bad. The sheets beneath it were soft and silky, and Master had even placed a pillow under its head.

The slave didn’t understand why Master had bought it, and then didn’t use it. Perhaps he was just too tired after the drive. The slave hoped with every molecule in its body that the kind Master would find it acceptable, would find it good enough, and that he’d allow it to stay.

 

[Part 4b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/23841.html#cutid1)


	8. March 2015 (part 4b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's is in two sections. Xander attends an auction.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 4b**_  
**Chapter Title:** March 2015 (part 4b)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's is in two sections. Xander attends an auction.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts****

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
5.

Xander woke up and groaned.

He’d done exactly what he’d hoped to—he’d found Spike, bought him, and brought him back, where he was safely out of the clutches of the mines and the labs and the sick bastards who would torture him for kicks.

But now he was firmly in Xander’s clutches, wasn’t he? Xander knew very well how that had turned out the last two times. And that was before they’d turned the vampire into a horny, pathetic wreck.

What the fuck was he going to do with him?

Then he had an answer.

He was going to dust the poor thing. Put him out of his misery for good.

He got out of bed and slipped on some jeans, then padded into the kitchen. He pulled a long wooden spoon out of a drawer and snapped it in half, making a reasonable makeshift stake. Then he went into Spike’s room.

Spike was just as he’d left him, of course. His cock was still wet and angry-looking. His hair was mussed from the pillow. He was writhing gently in the ropes but when he saw what was in Xander’s hand he froze and his eyes went very, very wide.

Xander sat on the bed beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing I can do for you. I can’t set you free—they’d just round you up again. I can’t give you a better life than this. I can’t even let you wear clothes. Did you know that’s a criminal offense?”

Spike didn’t say anything.

“Maybe you don’t remember, but I do. I know what you used to be like. You were scary as fuck. You were the big bad. You’d never have wanted to exist like this, nothing but a fucktoy for the donut boy.

“They never should have done this! They should have just dusted you all, just dragged every one of you out into the light of day, and….” Xander’s voice broke and he couldn’t go on.

Spike was still as a statue.

Xander placed the broken end of the spoon over that unmoving pearl-white chest. He thought about the number of times he would have leapt at the chance to do this, back when he was a kid. He thought about the times Spike had tried to kill him and his friends, the time he’d kidnapped Xander and Willow and they’d kissed and Cordelia had gotten impaled. Thought of Jesse, whom Xander had destroyed. He thought of Willow, whose body had been found sprawled under some bushes, and how he’d had to sneak back into the cemetery the night after the funeral, and he’d dug up that new grave, glancing nervously over his shoulder as he did because Buffy wasn’t there, she was off with Riley and the Initiative, and he’d pulled that dead, familiar form out of her coffin and run his hands through the red hair and hacked off her head, because he didn’t know whether she might rise again that night if he didn’t.

He pressed the splinters slightly into Spike’s soft skin, and Spike didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.

And Xander thought about Buffy, her eyes hard as flint, as she’d refused to help Oz. As she’d explained all the great work the Initiative was doing, and the plans they had for the future, when humans would no longer be plagued by demons. When demons would work for humans, paying them back for all the damage they’d caused, the deaths they’d brought about. When demons would suffer, just as they’d made humans suffer, and wasn’t that fair? Wasn’t that just? Wasn’t that how the world should be?

The wood went in a little more, and thin streams of blood trickled down Spike’s chest, down his sides and onto Wolfram &amp; Hart’s comforter.

Xander thought about Spike’s silky skin under his hands, and Spike’s cool tightness around his cock, and Spike’s soft lips pressed against his. And he thought about Spike straightening his clothes and drawing his bath and bringing him beer, all without being asked. And he thought about Spike’s little smirk when he knew he’d sucked Xander’s brains out through his dick, and the way Spike’s eyelids fluttered when he came, and his smile. His genuine, sunny smile when Xander gave him the books.

Xander lifted the spoon away and let it drop to the floor at his side.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

Spike released a great, shuddering breath. And was that relief or regret etched on his face?

 

6.

There were benefits to living in this neighborhood.

Just a few blocks away was DJ’s Dungeon, and they had everything he needed. The clerk with the green mohawk and the pierced eyebrows cheerfully rang up his purchases as he fervently hoped he hadn’t completely exceeded his credit limit. Then he drove home, car full of plastic sacks.

Spike looked at him in alarm as he walked into the bedroom, arms full.

“I’m not going to stake you,” Xander said.

Spike just blinked at him.

“They told me the…whatever the fuck they did to you…it’ll wear off in a week. I can’t keep you tied up for a week, Spike.”

He sat down on the bed and pulled out the first item. It had set him back 150 bucks. It was made of some kind of very durable, clear plastic. The ring part slipped around the base of Spike’s balls, then the cage went over his cock. Putting it on was tricky—Spike went wild, thrashing and moaning, as soon as Xander touched him. Xander was just thankful they’d had a model intended to go over erections, because he’d never have been able to attach the type meant for limp penises—not without some major damage to Spike, anyway. There was a slit at the end that was just big enough for Spike’s piercing. When he finally got the thing on, he locked it in place with a heavy padlock.

“Does that hurt?”

“No, Master.”

Xander unlocked the handcuffs around Spike’s wrist. He had to use a big kitchen knife to cut the ropes. Spike’s wrists and ankles looked red and chewed, as if he’d been pulling hard against his bonds. Which he probably had.

“Go ahead and sit up.”

Warily, Spike did.

“Try to touch yourself.”

Spike tried, but the plastic cage prevented him from having any contact with his organ. He wouldn’t be able to rub it against anything, either. “Think that’s going to work, Spike?”

“Yes, Master. Thank you.” That was definitely relief on his face this time.

“Do you think you need…uh…a plug, too? I mean, if I’m off at work and you’re not tied up, are you gonna end up trying to fuck yourself all day?”

Spike dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“No need to apologize. It’s why I got this.” He held up a metal harness and short piece of black silicone. As Spike watched, he slid the plug through the hole in the bottom of the harness.

“Why don’t you stand up and bend over the bed?”

As soon as Spike was in position—and Xander so was not going to let himself admire that position at all—Xander opened a bottle of lube and squirted a little on his finger. “Spread ‘em, Spike.” Spike grabbed a cheek with each hand and pulled them apart. His body was vibrating with tension. Trying to work as clinically as possible, Xander pressed his slicked finger into the exposed pink hole. Spike whimpered loudly and pushed back onto it, fully impaling himself. He whined even more loudly when Xander slid his finger out a moment later.

Then Xander inserted the plug. It was short and not too wide, and he hoped it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable for Spike to wear for a while. As soon as it was fully seated, Xander looped the harness around Spike’s waist; the front and crotch parts both had chains that he locked to the plastic cage. Finally, he secured the harness in place with two more locks.

“Stand up.” When Spike complied, Xander took a close look. Yeah, everything looked pretty safe. And bondage wasn’t really his thing, but still, he felt a definite stirring at his own loins. Spike looked really hot. And Christ, he really didn’t want to go there right now.

“Got something else, too. Have a seat.” He gestured to Spike, who sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching around him, Xander unlocked Spike’s collar. It was wide and tight, and it left an ugly ring of red, chafed flesh around Spike’s neck. He replaced it with the new collar he’d bought. This one was somewhat narrower, and, while the outside was steel, the inside was leather, which he thought might be more comfortable. It was a little looser, too, but it still met legal requirements for slave restraints. He locked it on.

First glancing at him for permission, Spike raised a hand and felt at the collar.

“Better?”

“Yes, Master. Thank you.”

The rest of the bags contained a variety of cuffs and shackles. He hoped not to have to use them, but if he did, at least they’d be better than the rope. And there was a new leash, too, black leather and longer than the one the slavers had given him. He pulled that out of the bag and hung it over the footboard. “We can take a walk after dark if you want, Spike.”

Spike’s mouth dropped open at this. “Out…outside, Master?”

“Yeah.”

Spike closed his eyes and shivered.

“Come on. Let’s eat.”

Spike followed him into the kitchen. Xander told him to get his own blood, and he did, even managing not to spill any. At Xander’s nod, he heated it as well.

“I need to get some work done today. You think your head’s clear enough to read?”

Spike frowned. “I…. No, Master.” He hung his head.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Xander said, clasping his shoulder. “Give yourself a few days without that synthblood shit. Want to listen to some music, then?”

Spike perked up considerably at this. Xander settled him in the second bedroom—Xander was already thinking of it as Spike’s room—and turned the radio on. Then Xander secluded himself in the master bedroom, where there was a small desk set up in front of a window. He’d grown to like it as a work spot.

Several hours later, Xander looked outside. The sun was just setting, the sky painted with streaks of cotton candy pink. He stood and stretched hugely, then changed into shorts and a tee, and slipped on his Reeboks.

He peeked in at Spike, who was sitting back on the bed, his hips twitching a little but a look of peace on his face. When Spike sensed him, though, he threw himself off the bed and onto the floor and hunched into a Kneel.

Xander sighed. “Whenever we’re in here, at home, you can forget that crap, okay? No positions, no crawling around on the floor. You don’t have to ask permission just to breathe.”

Spike looked up at him, and his eyes were deep pools, full of questions.

“What?”

“Why, Master?”

“Why what?”

“Why—why are you being…being so nice to…to a slave, Master?”

Xander had to think for several minutes, because he wasn’t at all sure of the answer. “It’s…I haven’t done that much.” Other than maxing out his credit card and blowing his savings. “And you’re not just a slave, you’re…someone I knew…someone not a stranger. I couldn’t just…. Fuck, Spike, I don’t know.”

Spike shook his head a little, clearly still confused. Hell, so was Xander.

“Let’s just get out of here for a while, okay?”

Spike nodded briskly at that. Xander grabbed the leash and snapped it onto his collar, and Spike followed him as they left the apartment. They took the elevator down to the ground floor and then stepped out into the evening.

It was chilly out, as evenings were this time of year, but Xander was still acclimated to the Midwest, so he didn’t really feel it. He had no idea whether Spike did. He was naked, but he had no body heat of his own. Did that make him more or less sensitive to cold?

They strolled down the street. They passed a few people who glanced curiously at them, but leashed slaves weren’t uncommon in this neighborhood, nor was the bondage getup Spike had on.

Xander hadn’t worked out for several days, so they walked to his gym. Inside, there was a sort of hitching post where he could attach Spike’s leash. Spike Knelt as Xander exercised, watching Xander and the other men in the room out of the corners of his eyes, seemingly content. There was enough activity going on to distract him from the chemical-induced demands of his body, at any rate. Xander noticed the other people in the room looking at Spike appreciatively, but nobody went near him.

When he felt pleasantly worn out, Xander took Spike back into the changing room with him. He showered and changed into a set of clothes he’d stashed in his locker last week.

Their next stop was dinner. Xander found a little place with an outdoor seating area and a heat lamp. It was kind of nice to have company for a meal, even if the company was Kneeling silently at his feet. Xander had a really good steak and a couple glasses of wine, then sat back, drinking espresso and watching people stroll by.

A short, muscular man wearing a lot of leather and dragging a vampire by a leash stopped to openly admire Spike. This guy’s vamp was on his hands and knees, his ass and back and thighs heavily criss-crossed with welts. He was muscular, too, and had piercings all over his body, including two in his cock and a series of hoops that ran all the way from his anus across his scrotum. The leash was attached to one of these hoops. His scalp was as hairless and smooth as the rest of him and his head hung very low.

“Nice vamp,” said the guy, leaning on the metal railing that separated the tables from the sidewalk.

“Thanks.”

Spike leaned in against Xander’s shin a little, and Xander could see the man’s eyes go round with lust and envy.

“You wanna share for a few hours? See if they can learn some new tricks?”

Xander fought to keep his face neutral. No point making a scene. “No, thanks. I’m pretty possessive of my vampire.” Spike leaned harder at this, gratefully, probably.

The man frowned with disappointment. “Well, too bad, man.”

Xander didn’t answer, and the guy walked off, his slave struggling to keep up with him.

After Xander paid for his dinner, they walked for a while. Spike’s head craned this way and that, taking in the palm trees and the cafés and the boutiques and the stucco buildings. By the time they returned home, Xander was tired and ready to just veg for a while. So he did, collapsing in front of the tv while Spike sat on the floor and leafed through a couple architecture magazines Xander had given him. He couldn’t make sense of the print yet, but he could look at the pictures, at least. He sipped slowly from a mug of blood, as well.

It was past 11 when Xander decided to turn in. Work tomorrow. “If you want to clean up, Spike, go ahead. You can shower or bathe with those things on.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Spike was standing awkwardly, as if unsure where to go. “You can sleep in your bed, under the blankets if you want. I don’t need to tie you down tonight.”

“You…you don’t want to use me, Master?”

Fuck.

“Not tonight. Not while you’re on that shit.”

“Yes, Master.”

 

7.

By the following weekend, Spike’s thoughts were once again mostly coherent and his body’s raging need had finally ebbed.

While Master was at work, he’d spend the day wandering the flat, leafing through magazines and then books, listening to music. Toward the end of the week, he started doing some light housework as well—washing dishes, tidying the beds, that sort of thing. Master snorted in amusement at his vampire houseboy, but it alleviated the boredom a little, and made Spike feel useful. He still couldn’t bring himself to believe that Master would keep him. What would Xander Harris want with Spike the slave?

Well, sex, perhaps.

Except Master didn’t touch him all week, barely noticed him, in fact, as even his hours at home were filled with work. Still, every evening he’d clip on Spike’s leash and they’d at least take a short stroll.

It was exhilarating for Spike to be outside. He’d had individual Masters before the hotel, but neither of them had taken him outdoors. One of them, in fact, kept him locked inside a small cage in his bedroom nearly all the time, while the other confined him to a few rooms in his home. Spike didn’t care for all the humans staring at him covetously when they walked, but Master never let any of them touch him, and the variety of sights and sounds and scents was more than enough of a treat to make up for lecherous stares.

On Saturday, Master carefully removed the cock cage and harness and plug. Spike was relieved to see his cock quiet and flaccid, and he had no urge at all to stroke it. Well, no urge beyond ordinary vampire libido, anyway. Master told him he could, as long as he didn’t harm himself. And that night he did have a nice, long wank, in private, in what passed for his own bed. He began thinking about Before—about Drusilla and her tits that felt so nice in his hands, about Angelus and his thick cock, even about that cow Harmony he’d been shagging shortly before the Initiative took him. But in the end, it was thoughts of Master—Master showering at the gym, Master smiling his crooked smile and handing him the remote for the telly in Spike’s room, Master practically growling at other humans who came too close to Spike—it was thoughts of Master that finally sent him over the edge.

On Sunday, Master left him alone while he went for a run and a swim, and then again when he shopped for groceries. He picked up more blood as well, a big tub of cow and a smaller of pig. For variety, he said, grinning.

In the late afternoon, Master lounged on the couch, shirtless and dozing in front of a basketball game. Spike sat on the cushiony carpet, his back against the couch, reading a book. Master had told him he could sit on the furniture if he liked, and a part of him really wanted to, but he just wasn’t comfortable with it yet.

Spike finished a chapter and looked up at Master, whose eyes were closed and whose mouth hung slightly open. A half-empty bottle of beer was clutched in his hand, in imminent danger of falling. Spike gently eased it away and set it on the end table.

Master hadn’t told Spike much about his life, but Spike had picked up a few things. He knew they were in LA, and Master had moved here very recently. He knew Master was working for some large company, one that paid him well but expected him to put in loads of hours staring at blueprints and computer data charts. He knew, too, that Master always smelled a bit odd when he came home from the office, a bit demony, in fact, and that Master was generally tense and twitchy for some time after he’d left work.

And he knew, as he’d surmised at the hotel, that Master was unhappy. Empty. Lonely. Aside from a few calls from co-workers, he never seemed to speak to anyone but Spike, and all his mail was bills and adverts. Spike wondered again what had happened to that lot from Sunnydale, but Master never mentioned them, and Spike didn’t have the courage to ask.

Even asleep like this, Master looked worn. Haunted, nearly. His body was fit but there were dark smudges under his eyes and the hair at his temples had begun to gray.

Master opened his eyes and caught Spike staring at him. He didn’t move, though, and Spike found himself unable to look away, caught in those brown depths the way he’d once been caught in his sire’s, and, after, his grandsire’s.

Master lifted a hand and stroked Spike’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Spike,” he said, his voice sleep-roughened.

And, knowing the act was too audacious for a slave, knowing it could get him punished or even sold, Spike nonetheless leaned forward and planted his mouth against Master’s curling lips.

Master didn’t yell or hit him. Instead, he cupped a hand behind Spike’s skull, his fingers threaded through his hair. He wrapped his other arm around Spike’s body and pressed his palm in the center of Spike’s back. And he opened his mouth, allowing Spike’s tongue to slip inside and chase the flavors of beer and potato crisps, then his tongue danced into Spike’s mouth.

Master’s hand fell lower, cradling the swell of Spike’s arse. Spike hitched in a breath through his nose as the large, calloused palm nestled against him. He felt a rush of need almost as great as the one the drugs had induced, but this one was somehow deeper, as if it involved not just his cock but his entire being.

He moved his own hand to Master’s crotch and caressed the solid bulge he found there, reading the bumps of Master’s cock through the cotton of his sweatpants as if they were Braille. Master arched up slightly, pressing into him, and at the same time squeezed the muscle of Spike’s buttock.

Then Master’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back, and Spike prepared for rejection, for chastisement, even for a beating. But Master just looked steadily into his eyes and said, “Spike, do you really want this?”

What Spike wanted hadn’t mattered in so long that he didn’t know the answer. But he did know that he needed it, and so he said, “Yes, Master, please,” and Master pulled him back against him for a teeth-clacking, breath-stealing kiss.

It was moments later, or perhaps hours, when Spike found himself on his back on the soft carpet, Master atop him—having apparently lost his trousers on the journey from couch to floor—plundering his mouth, grinding his hard length against Spike’s hip. And Spike, his arms were clasped around the man, holding on as if for dear unlife, clutching just this side of the chip’s tolerance.

Master reached down and grasped Spike’s cock, a feeling like coarse sandpaper on satin. Spike spread his legs and wrapped them around Master, and then Master’s blunt finger was invading his passage the way his tongue was invading Spike’s mouth. Master broke the kiss and dipped his head lower, and he sucked on the thin skin of Spike’s neck, just above the collar, just over his carotid, and someone was chanting “Please, please, please, please…..” and Spike realized it was him, and Master _bit_ and Spike bucked and howled and cold fire flashed through his cold body and his dead seed splattered against Master’s belly, and Master convulsed twice and came, too, his come painting Spike’s skin like melted wax.

Master collapsed on top of him, his weight both oppressive and light as straw.

When Master’s breathing had evened out, he lifted himself on his elbows and lightly stroked the new wound on Spike’s neck. “Jesus,” he said. “I don’t know why I did that. Does it hurt?”

But as he spoke, Spike saw the blood on Master’s lips and teeth, _his_ blood, and he was instantly hard again.

“Was nice, Master,” he said.

Master frowned. “I suppose it’ll heal right away anyway.” And he bent back down and licked at the few drops of blood. A shudder trembled through Spike’s body and his hips thrust upwards of their own volition.

Master laughed. “The neck is an erogenous zone for vampires. Who’d have guessed?” and he licked again.

 

[Part 5a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/24225.html#cutid1)


	9. May 2015 (part 5a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's is in two sections. We get some answers to some plot-related questions.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 5a**_  
**Chapter Title:** May 2015 (part 5a)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's is in two sections. We get some answers to some plot-related questions.  
Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/) for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts****

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**  
MAY 2015**

 

1.

“How’s that house-hunting going?” Lindsey asked, jabbing a forkful of ribeye into his mouth.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I’ve just been…. I’ll get right on it this weekend.”

“You like the place?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great.”

Lindsey wiped his mouth on the red cloth napkin. “So stay.”

But Xander shook his head. “No. You guys are paying me really well, but I can’t afford the rent on a place like that.”

“You keep up the good work, and pretty soon you’ll be able to buy a place like that. Buy the whole damn building, if you want.”

“Thanks, but—“

“Holland’s real happy with you.”

Xander couldn’t help a small wince at the man’s name. Something about him still scared the crap out of him. But all he said was, “That’s great, Lindsey.”

“Holland likes to reward good work.” Lindsey took a swig of his Coors. “He likes to punish fuck-ups, too.”

Xander had been toying with his spoon, but this made his head snap up. Lindsey was grinning widely at him.

“Like I said, he’s been real happy with you. He wants you to have that apartment permanently. Rent-free.”

Xander’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Lindsey, I can’t—“

“Call it a bonus, Xander. Your work on that Hutcheson deal last month saved us three, four million, easy.” Lindsey raised an eyebrow at him. “Unless you’d rather have a vamp instead.”

“No, uh, no thanks. The apartment is good. It’s great.”

“You already got one, ain’t you?”

How the fuck did Lindsey know that? Well, Lindsey—and the rest of Wolfram &amp; Hart—knew a lot of things about a lot of people, he was beginning to suspect. He certainly wouldn’t be surprised if they spied on their own employees, especially new ones who’d been entrusted with expensive projects.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Walker &amp; Sons?”

Xander nodded.

“They have good quality merchandise. The best in the business.” The lawyer drained his glass. “You can bring it in to the office, you know. A lot of folks do.”

“That’s okay. I’d prefer to keep…that sort of thing at home.”

Lindsey smiled at him. “A man who values his privacy. I respect that.”

It wasn’t so much his privacy Xander wanted to protect as Spike. More and more over the past two months, he’d been thinking of Spike as his vampire. _His_. A notion that Spike only encouraged by throwing himself on—and under—Xander at every opportunity. And that was a distracting thought and now he’d lost track of what Lindsey was saying. His boss seemed to have asked him a question.

“Uh, sorry. Could you repeat that?”

“Mind somewhere else, Xander?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s been a long day. That contract with Fox had to be almost totally re-written—the building specs were way off, and—“

“Don’t sweat it. I’m gonna assign someone else to that one. I got somethin’ new for you.” Lindsey plopped a thick orange expanding file onto the table next to Xander’s plate. “Everything you need to get started’s in there. Take a look, we’ll talk on Monday.”

Great. Homework. He hadn’t had any plans for this weekend anyway—just some tv and a couple of good workouts and some long walks and long fucks with his vampire and he so needed to get a life.

 

2.

In a way, it had been easier when he’d been treated like a mindless object. At least then he’d had no choice about what to do with himself. It was mostly a whole lot of go bend over in the corner with your arse in the air, interspersed with periods of open your mouth or spread your legs or don’t scream while I beat you. Hadn’t been any fun. Had been bloody awful, actually. But he’d had no choice but to obey, and he’d never even thought about what he _might_ be doing. He just did what he was told.

But now.

Now he had the run of the flat. He could watch his own telly—hundreds of channels, even porn—or listen to music. Or read the stacks of books that Master brought him, or go snooping through Master’s things, or wank, or lie about in bed, or learn new skills. He’d taken up cooking, lately, because he’d been watching some stupid program and he’d thought Master might like the recipe they’d made and the kitchen here was ridiculously well-equipped and Master never used it for much besides re-warming leftovers. And last week Master had set up a computer in his room and showed him how to surf the internet, and that was bloody brilliant, that was.

But he was still a slave.

By the end of the day he’d get restless, especially when Master worked late. Vampires weren’t meant to be kept indoors all the time like housepets.

The shagging was lovely. Master was lovely, and Spike adored the sensation of Master’s thick cock filling him, the hot press of Master’s body atop his.

But a human could only shag so much.

And most of the rest of the time Master paid him little mind. Oh, he was nice enough. Certainly never cruel. And they’d go for walks almost every night, which Spike still enjoyed. A few times, Master had stuffed him into that car of his and taken him up to the hills where he could wander without his leash, and there would be nobody there to see. One night they’d even walked down a long, empty beach, the waves glowing phosphorescent under a full moon, reminding Spike of China, somewhere on the other side of that great sea.

Still, Master spoke to him very little, and back in the flat, when they weren’t fucking Master was working or staring at the telly or asleep. They didn’t even sleep together. Though they had sex in both beds—and just about everywhere else in the flat, for that matter—at bedtime Master headed for his own room and sent Spike off to his.

Spike was hungering for things he knew Master could never give him. Freedom. Self-respect. Love.

He was being a bloody idiot, he knew. After a decade and a half of misery and degradation, he’d been given kindness and comfort and the kind of existence he literally couldn’t have dreamed of as a slave.

And it wasn’t enough, was it?

 

3.

“What’s your heart’s desire, Xander?”

Oh fuck, maybe Holland Manners really was the devil.

“I, uh, I don’t know, Mr. Manners.”

“Please. Call me Holland.” He smiled widely at Xander across the broad, bare expanse of his desk.

“The firm has taken care of all your immediate needs, hasn’t it? The shiny car—good choice there, my boy—the nice apartment, the generous salary?”

“Yes, you’ve treated me very well.”

“But those are such simple things. Surely there’s something more, something…deeper you’re wishing for.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mis—uh, Holland.”

Holland stood and walked over to the bar built into the bookcase on one wall. He poured two glasses of scotch—good stuff, Xander saw—and sipped at one as he brought the other to Xander. Xander took a sip himself, wishing he could just chug it. Holland perched on the corner of his desk, his leg hanging about a foot from Xander.

“I’m sure Lindsey has told you that we provide our loyal people with some rather unique benefits, correct?”

Xander nodded.

“He tells me you turned down the offer of a vampire.”

“Um, yeah. I already have one.”

Holland laughed. “There’s no reason to limit yourself to only one, is there?”

Before Xander could formulate an answer to this, though, Holland continued. “But of course there are other things we can provide as well. Things a great deal more valuable than a mere toy.” Holland gestured with his glass to the corner of his spacious office, where a buxom female vampire was on all fours, a large basket of fruit displayed on her back.

“Xander, I know that you grew up in Sunnydale, and so you’re aware that things exist that most people can’t even imagine. Not just vampires and other demons,” he waved dismissively. “They’re just exotic freakshows, really. No, I’m talking about much more important things. Like magic. Other worlds. Nearly limitless power. You know what I mean?”

Xander thought of some of the things he’d witnessed as a boy, and he nodded again.

Holland bent over a bit so his face was closer to Xander’s. His mouth was still stretched in a smile, but his eyes were like glittering blades. “Wolfram &amp; Hart is a very old firm, Xander, and we have access to some very interesting resources. Resources which we can, and do, share with our most valuable employees. And Xander, I think you have the potential to become one of those people.”

The man paused expectantly. Xander took two more sips of his drink and willed his voice not to shake. “Holland, I’m not sure what you want from me. I’ve been giving you my best work, putting in—“

“Oh, I know, I know, son. And there’s nothing else I’m asking of you right now. Except this. Think about this conversation. Think about my question. What do you _really_ want? And soon, we can talk about what you might do to earn it.”

Holland stood up then, and held out his hand, and Xander knew he’d been dismissed. He put down his empty glass and shook Holland’s dry palm with his sweaty one, and then Holland ushered him to the door with his hand on Xander’s shoulder.

Xander walked back to his own office, which suddenly seemed small and shabby, in a daze. What, exactly, was Holland offering? What did he expect in return?

The file Lindsey had given him wasn’t much help in answering these questions. In fact, it had raised a great number of questions of its own. Wolfram &amp; Hart planned to construct a building. A very strange sort of building, shaped like a star inside a circle, with a number of rooms inside with odd specifications. Cost was not a major issue, but it was to be built quickly and rather secretly, in that nobody was supposed to know its features until after it was finished—not even the construction crew. The company wanted Xander to find a way to assemble the thing in pieces, using different crews, so that none of the crews really had any idea of the big picture.

And they wanted to build it on that weedy piece of land that L&amp;T was planning to develop into an office tower.

Xander couldn’t tell why Wolfram &amp; Hart wanted to do this, or what purpose it had in mind for the structure when it was done. He kind of had the feeling that he didn’t _want_ to know. But it was very clear that this was an important project, and that Lindsey and Holland and perhaps even those higher up were extremely keen to have the project completed properly.

Oh, fuck. What was his heart’s desire? And what would he do to get it?

He also had the feeling that saying no really wasn’t an option.

Xander jumped up from his desk and marched down the hallway to Lindsey’s office. He knocked loudly on the big wooden door.

A moment later, Lindsey opened it, a smile on his face, almost as if he expected Xander to come. “You look like a guy with a bee in his bonnet,” he said, waving Xander inside and shutting the door behind him.

Xander turned and faced him, purposely standing close enough to overshadow the shorter man. “Okay,” he said. “Tell me straight. Why me?”

Lindsey only grinned and pointed at the table next to his large window. “Because of that.”

There was a paper on the table. No, Xander saw as he got closer, actually a piece of parchment. Old. Looked like it belonged in a museum. He peered at it. It was covered in flowing writing, but not in any language he recognized. It certainly wasn’t English or high school French or pidgin Spanish. And the ink looked a lot more like dried blood than it did Bic.

“I can’t read this,” he said.

“Yeah, we could fix that, actually,” replied Lindsey, moving close and resting his hand on Xander’s back. “But no need for that right now. I’ve got a translation, at least of the important part.” He walked to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. He walked back and handed it to Xander.

It was in English, in black inkjet ink in good old Times New Roman.

 

_The son of the Hellmouth is the father of the gate. With his hands he does build, with his heart he does build. He shall open the way, he shall revive the dead, he shall mend what is broken, he shall replace what is missing. The son of the Hellmouth is the father of the gate._

 

“What the hell is this?”

“It’s a prophecy, Xander. That’s sort of a loose translation, but it’s close enough.”

“But what does it mean?”

“Well, that’s the problem with prophecies. You never quite know exactly what they say. It’s some sort of free will thing, I think.”

“But—Is that supposed to be me? The son of the Hellmouth?” Xander felt dizzy, like he’d fallen through the rabbit hole.

“Maybe. Holland thinks so. The Senior Partners think so.”

“What’s the gate? What am I supposed to mend?”

Lindsey pulled on Xander’s arm until he was sitting on a brown leather-upholstered chair. “Dunno. Not sure, anyway. But the big guys think it’s interesting enough to try and find out.”

“So I’m supposed to….”

“Do what you do. It’ll come true, or not. Nothin’ you do is gonna change that. I’m only showin’ you ‘cause it was gonna drive you crazy, wondering why the firm chose you.”

Xander shook his head. “And this isn’t gonna drive me crazy?”

Lindsey grinned. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re fated to become nuts. I don’t know.”

Xander stood very quickly. “Lindsey, I need some time—“

“I know. Figured you might. Take the rest of the day off. Go home and play with your vampire or somethin’. We’ll talk some more tomorrow. I’ll take you on a little outing.”

Xander didn’t have it in him right now to wonder where that outing would be.

 

4.

Spike had heard him coming.

He usually did, unless he had his music very loud. By the time Xander unlocked the door, he was apt to find Spike standing just on the other side of it, an uncapped bottle of Heineken in his hand. Or he might be in the kitchen, throwing a steak into a pan. It was a little creepy, because this was _Spike_, but it was still nice. It made him feel…cared for.

Today when he opened the door, all the breath left his lungs in a whoosh.

Spike was stretched out on the couch, his white skin an almost shocking contrast to the black leather. The overhead light reflected softly off of the steel of his collar and the bits of metal in his nipples and cock. Spike hadn’t complained about the piercings—not that he complained about anything, nowadays—and Xander hadn’t got around to removing them. Mostly because he really kinda liked them, and liked playing with them when they fucked.

Spike’s left leg was bent, the bottom of his foot flat on the couch cushion and his knee resting against the seat back. His right leg was out straight but splayed, so his lower leg hung off the couch. His slender left hand was wrapped around his rigid shaft, moving languorously. The glans was red and glistening wet. The fingers of his right hand were toying with one of his nipple rings. His head was pillowed on the armrest, and his brows were drawn together in a frown of concentration, while his plump lower lip was caught between his teeth. His eyes were closed.

Xander softly shut the door behind him and let his briefcase fall to the floor. Silently, he leaned back against the doorframe, his arms crossed on his chest.

Spike didn’t hurry his movements. Sometimes he’d press his thumb into his slit and then spread the precome around the spongy head and then down his long length. His hips were canted upwards and rising slightly to meet each downward stroke of his fist. Xander could hear his breathing, soft and deep.

As Xander watched, Spike’s right hand abandoned his nipple and spiderwalked down his smooth chest, across his rippled abdomen, and finally down to his hairless scrotum. It cradled his balls then lightly tugged them. Then it dropped a little lower still, and Spike’s long fingers brushed lightly down his perineum and across the outside of his puckered opening.

Someone moaned when one of those fingers slipped inside. Xander thought it might have been him.

Spike’s hand was going a little faster now, and his nostrils were flaring. The show was clearly for his benefit, but Xander wondered what—or who—the vampire was thinking of. Drusilla, probably. Or maybe the memory of some of his kills. Xander had heard that vampires got off on hunting and slaughter, although he’d never checked close enough to verify this for himself, back when vampires were still wild.

Spike’s finger was joined by a second, and Xander watched as the digits disappeared and reappeared as if by magic. The rocking of Spike’s hips was more noticeable, and now his breath was coming in short pants.

Xander realized that Spike wasn’t just fucking himself with his fingers—he was scissoring them apart. Preparing himself. So it wasn’t a shock when Spike slowly raised his lids and hoarsely whispered, “Master. Please?”

Xander didn’t remember moving, but there he was, standing next to the couch. He’d lost his jacket along the way and his hands were busily unfastening his slacks. He pushed the pants and his briefs impatiently past his hips and his erection sprang free, moist and hungry.

Spike stuck out the tip of his sharp, pink tongue and licked his lips.

Xander nearly fell over trying to kick off his shoes and pants and underwear, and the corner of Spike’s mouth curled, but he didn’t pause the rapid pumping of his organ. With less than perfect grace, Xander climbed over Spike, who moved his right knee so Xander could settle between his legs. Spike tilted his pelvis upward invitingly.

“Please, Master,” Spike said urgently.

“Shit—lube,” Xander said, and started to get up, but Spike grabbed his wrist with his right hand, and Xander could feel the slickness of his fingers against his skin.

“Don’t need it, Master,” panted Spike.

Fuck. Spike had already prepared himself.

With a deep groan, Xander sank into the slippery, tight channel.

Spike groaned back and immediately stopped his stroking, instead grasping the base of his cock tightly between his fingers.

“God, Master, not gonna last…,” he moaned. Which was fine, because Xander figured he had all of about thirty seconds before blast-off himself.

Spike wiggled needily beneath him and ran his slippery fingers down the center of Xander’s spine. Xander’s hips snapped back and forth of their own accord, his cock delving deep inside the vampire and then coming close enough to pulling out completely to make Spike whine and jerk and clutch at him. But as soon as Spike let go of his cock, his eyes grew large and his head fell back and he said with a strangled cry, “Master!”

“Come,” wheezed Xander, and felt the cold splatters against his skin and the convulsive clenching of Spike’s hands on his lower back and the firm contractions of Spike’s inner muscles around his cock. Xander bent down as he had before and bit hard into Spike’s slender neck and Spike screamed and clutched harder, and Xander didn’t know if they were screams of pain or of pleasure and didn’t much care as he felt his own release thunder through him, making him judder atop Spike like he’d been given an electrical charge.

When they both stilled, Xander licked the small spots of blood from Spike’s neck. He’d come to enjoy the taste and he wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to have needle-sharp fangs sink into him. Not that he’d ever find out, thanks to the chip. And if the chip ever failed and he _did_ find out, well, he figured it’d be the last thing he ever felt.

With a final little nuzzle under Spike’s jaw, Xander extracted himself from Spike and stood. Spike beamed at him, his rare, sunny smile, the one that made him look more like an angel than a demon. “Hello, Master,” he said.

“Hello yourself.”

Spike pulled himself into a sitting position. “Gonna go clean myself up, Master. Then can I cook you something?”

“Nah. It’s a little early for dinner, and I thought we’d go out tonight anyway. The place with those onion rings?” Vampires didn’t need to eat real food, of course, but Xander had discovered that Spike had a taste for certain things, and beer-battered, deep-fried onions was one of them. He’d pop little pieces into the vampire’s mouth with his fingers as he ate. Although some of the other diners would sometimes scowl at what they no doubt viewed as his over-indulgence of his slave, Xander felt that Spike was entitled to what small treats Xander could give him.

Spike nodded happily and went off to shower, while Xander picked up his discarded clothing and carried it into his bedroom. Once inside, though, he lay heavily on the bed, letting the garments drop onto the floor. For a little while there he’d almost forgotten about Holland and Lindsey and strangely-shaped buildings and prophecies. But now it all came back to him at full force and he buried his head in his hands wearily.

[Part 5b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/24402.html#cutid1)


	10. May 2015 (part 5b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's is in two sections. We get some answers to some plot-related questions.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 5b**_  
**Chapter Title:** May 2015 (part 5b)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's is in two sections. We get some answers to some plot-related questions.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts****

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
5.

“Look familiar?”

“Uh, yeah.” Of course it did. He’d been here before, twice. It was the parcel of land that L&amp;T wanted to build on.

Lindsey leaned against the grille of his enormous SUV and scuffed an expensive heel in the dust. “Don’t look like much, does it?”

Xander squinted across the big lot, toward the freeway. It was hot out and he felt a bead of sweat drip off the back of his neck and down his back. “Lindsey, I really don’t want to get used in some sort of battle against L&amp;T. I know I work for you now, but—“

“War’s already won, Xander. We settled last week. They’re gonna build their shiny offices somewhere else.”

Xander turned and looked at him. “What’s the deal, Lindsey? Why here?”

“It’s a nexus. A place where…worlds connect.”

Xander felt a pitch of fear in his innards. “A Hellmouth?”

“Nooo, not exactly. A Hellmouth is a kind of portal, but there are other kinds. They don’t all lead to nasty-shit places, either.”

“It’s a gate. The gate. Isn’t it?”

Lindsey shrugged. “Could be.”

“What’s it for? What does Wolfram &amp; Hart want to do with it?”

“You’re just full of questions, ain’t ya?”

“Not getting a whole lotta answers here, Lindsey.”

“Give it time. We need to feel each other out a little more. Right?” Lindsey stepped closer to Xander, very close, in fact, well within his personal space bubble. His voice dropped to a low growl. “You want to feel each other out, Xander?”

Xander swallowed. Lindsey was a beautiful man. Xander could feel the heat of him rising toward him, hotter even than the dry air around him, hot like the Santa Anas in October. He was nothing like Spike’s cold comfort, his smoldering eyes not at all like Spike’s chips of Arctic ice.

“Look,” Xander started to say, and he had no idea what words were going to come out of his mouth next, so it was a relief when Lindsey slapped his shoulder and quirked his lips.

“Another time, Xander,” he said.

They didn’t say anything as they drove back to the office. The confines of the huge vehicle suddenly seemed almost claustrophobic, and Xander continued to sweat despite the blast of the air conditioner.

When they got back, they stood silently together in the elevator. As they separated to head to their respective offices, though, Lindsey grabbed Xander’s arm. “I forgot to tell you—you’re going on a trip tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“Limo’s gonna pick you up at your place at seven, and we’ve got a plane set to take you to Vegas. You’re gonna meet there with a client. Name’s Rusty Falcone. He’s got a project in mind, and I want you to see if it’s doable. I’ll email you a briefing later today. You’ll stay at his place—he owns Valhalla, you know—and then we’ll fly you back early Thursday. You can take the rest of the week off, too.”

“But, tomorrow…I can’t….” Xander found himself sputtering hopelessly.

“Got somewhere else you hafta be?”

“No, it’s just—“

“It’ll be fine. It’s just a preliminary thing, you know. To figure out whether it’s worth our time to pursue.”

Xander couldn’t refuse. He finished up his other work that afternoon, and quickly scanned Lindsey’s email. Falcone wanted to build a new casino with a demon theme. Seemed like a stupid idea, but what did Xander know? Wolfram &amp; Hart wanted him to look at the plans, see if the project could really be completed for a reasonable cost and within a reasonable time. Xander supposed he could manage that.

When he got home, he discovered Spike had cooked for him again. Something complicated with pasta and fresh vegetables. It was pretty strange to have a vampire chef, but he supposed it gave Spike something to do, and it turned out he was pretty good at it. Xander cleaned his plate appreciatively and then pushed back his chair from the table. Spike was leaning against the counter, just watching him.

“Thanks, Spike, that was really good.”

“Not too much chipotle, Master?”

“No. Just right.”

Spike smiled at him and came for his plate.

“I have to go away.”

Spike froze, his face a mask of fear. “No, please! I’ve been good, haven’t I, Master?”

“You’ve been perfect, and it’s just for one night. You’re still…mine, okay?”

Spike’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he nodded.

“It’s a work thing. I’ll leave in the morning, and I’ll be back the next day. Will you be all right?” It was stupid, asking a 150-year-old vampire whether he could manage on his own for 24 hours, but still….

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, Master.”

“Good. Because then I have off until Monday, and…would you like to go somewhere? Get away from this house for a few days?”

Spike blinked at him. “Away?”

“I heard about this resort down near La Jolla. It’s specifically set up for people who want to bring their…vampires. Necrotinted glass, things like that. I can get us a suite with a Jacuzzi.”

“That…that’d be nice, Master.”

“Okay. I’ll go make a couple calls.”

 

6.

Spike peeked through his bedroom window as the limo pulled away. A whole day—and night—alone. You’d think it would feel slightly liberating. It didn’t.

Master had left him with plenty of blood, and he’d gone out last night and brought back a game console, which he’d taken the time to hook up to the telly in the living room. He’d showed Spike how to play _Dead Space_. It was the closest Spike had got to inflicting mayhem in years, and he was enjoying it a great deal.

And here he was, like a sodding great baby, jumping at every sound, at every footstep down the corridor outside the flat. With Master gone, what would stop someone from stealing him, from taking him away? Or what if Master never returned?

Spike snorted and shook his head. What a weak thing he’d become.

He stared longingly at the door. He could wait until dark, and then he could just open it. Walk out in the night, alone. No leash. He could even take some of Master’s clothes, cover the collar with a high-necked shirt, and he could probably pass for human long enough to steal a car and get out of the city.

And then where would he go?

No place was safe for his kind anymore. Predators had become prey.

He couldn’t hunt humans any more for food—the chip bloody well saw to that—and in any place where there were people, he’d be found out soon enough. He could head for the wilderness, feed on deer and smaller animals in the mountains. He could be deep in the forest within a few hours’ drive.

But they’d find him soon enough.

It’s possible Master wouldn’t report him missing, even though it meant he’d be out his sixty thousand dollar toy. But the government did regular computerized sweeps, looking for slaves who were away from their registered homes and then checking in with them to make sure their owners were with them. The electronic shite they’d inserted in his body meant they could track him anywhere in the world. And they’d certainly pay close attention to a vamp spotted in an uninhabited area.

He couldn’t risk it. It wasn’t only that he didn’t want to jeopardize his place with Master, by far the best place he could possibly be. When he was in the Bad Place, the Initiative labs, they’d made sure to show him what happened to runaways. They showed all the slaves, as a precautionary tale. It worked.

The vampire they showed him had been a pleasure slave once, just like Spike, personally owned by some rich bloke up north, in Marin County. He’d tried to hide in the rugged hills near the coast, but they’d found him within only two or three days and brought him to the lab.

They kept him in a metal box now, taking him out now and then to display to other slaves.

They’d chopped off his arms and his legs and his cock and bollocks, and pulled out his eyeballs. They’d taken his teeth and his tongue, then sewed his mouth closed. They’d placed chunks of metal in his nostrils and in his ears, so that he couldn’t breathe or smell, and he couldn’t hear. And they’d rammed a huge metal bar up his arse, much thicker than a man’s fist and over two feet long, and affixed the bar to the insides of the box. The rod emitted a strong electrical charge at random intervals, strong enough to make what was left of the creature twitch and spasm, his face distorted in pain. They fed him now and then through the port in his stomach.

Spike most fervently hoped that the vampire had gone insane from the pain and sensory deprivation and confinement and starvation. The thing was, though, that vampires tended to have a fairly unbreakable hold on their sanity. Oh, some of them were barmy before they were turned, like Drusilla, and they generally stayed that way after. But the ones who were sane usually stayed that way, too. You had to be durable if you were going to spend your existence haunting the shadows and ripping people’s throats out. So chances were, that vampire was aware of where he was and what was happening to him. And if Spike were to run away, he would be caught, too, and it would be him in the box, begging silently every moment for the mercy of being dusted.

Spike went to the refrigerator and poured himself a mug of blood, then heated it. There were certainly a great many worse places he could be than here. Almost anywhere, really. But the door still tempted him, and he knew himself. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist the temptation.

 

 

 

 

7.

Master was buoyant when he returned. He’d made reservations at the resort, but they couldn’t leave until dark. So he climbed into bed next to Spike, which was lovely, and gushed about his adventures.

“I got a private jet, Spike! The pilot called me Mr. Harris and there was a flight attendant just for me who served me drinks. And then another limo picked me up at the Vegas airport, like I was some kind of celebrity or something.”

He’d nestled himself behind Spike and was running his hand absentmindedly across Spike’s side and chest and flank as he spoke.

“The meeting went fine, and then they showed me to my suite. It was huge! It made the place where I found you look like a flophouse.”

Spike shivered slightly. He didn’t like thinking about the hotel, about all the years he’d spent there, and what had happened to him at the hands of all those strangers.

“The suite came with a butler—my own butler! And Falcone took me to dinner at this fancy restaurant—I think he owns it—where they don’t even put prices on the menu and where we had our very own team of waiters. Then we went to Cirque du Soleil, where he had special seats, and afterward he gave me a card loaded with credit and told me to have fun. I stayed up half the night playing blackjack. I won twelve thousand dollars, and then lost every penny.” Master laughed quietly into Spike’s ear.

Spike burrowed back against Master’s solid heat. It was nice to hear the man so happy. It happened so rarely.

“Glad you had fun, Master,” he said softly.

Master said nothing for a long while, and Spike thought he might have gone to sleep. But then he said, “Spike? How…how can you stand this? Living like this?”

Spike had to think a long time, crafting an answer that was acceptable. “I’m fortunate, Master. You’ve been very good to me. More than anybody else ever has. More than I deserve, I expect.”

“Yeah, and I get a lot of great fucking and a chef and maid out of the deal, don’t I? But that doesn’t answer my question, Spike. C’mon. We both know you’d never choose anything like this in a million years, never choose _me_ if there were any better options. I remember how…how _cocky_ you were. You were William the fucking Bloody, slayer of slayers, weren’t you?”

Spike rolled over, wanting to look Master in the eyes. He was going to be honest, even if it meant punishment, or worse. He always was a bloody horrible liar.

“Master, I’ve been a lot of things, haven’t I? Was a man once, a foolish, weak man. I died a virgin, you know. Too caught up in crap poetry and other rubbish to really live. Then I was a fledge, a confused, powerless thing, helpless against Angelus and any other demon that wanted a go at me. And then I was a monster. Part of the Scourge of Europe, yeah? Leaving a trail of death in our wake. And then I was a lover. Took care of Drusilla for a century after her daddy left her, kept her from forgetting to stay out of the sun, even though I knew she’d leave me in a heartbeat if Angelus ever crooked his finger at her again. Never thought she’d leave me for a bloody fungus demon, though! And now I’m a slave. Your slave.

“I adapt, Master. It’s what I do, what’s kept me going so long. I don’t want to be a slave, but then I didn’t relish some of my other roles, either. I don’t know how long I can do this, how long I can keep myself…controlled…without the drugs. But I’m going to try, and I’m going to feel bloody lucky that at least I have the chance here.”

Master was silent again, gazing solemnly at Spike, no doubt processing what Spike had just said. Finally, he asked, “Do you hate me?”

Spike was shocked. “No! Of course not, Master.”

“But you used to, and that was before I’d…used you. Owned you.”

“I never hated you, Master. Didn’t give you that much thought, truth be told. But then I never really hated any humans, Before. It’s like…you didn’t hate the steer that got made into Monday’s steak, did you?”

Master laughed softly. “That’s what I am to you? Cattle?”

“Not any more, Master.”

“Why do you call me that? Master. I never said you had to. You could call me Xander, at least in private.”

“I need to remind myself. I can’t ever forget what I am, _Master_. Not even for a minute.”

“Because?”

“Because it would end with my destruction. Or worse.”

There was another lengthy pause.

“Spike? Do you mind that I fuck you?”

Spike snorted quietly and moved Master’s hand to his stiff cock. “Does it feel like I mind, Master?”

Master caressed the organ and then fondled Spike’s bollocks, rolling them gently in his palm. “No…but…what do you _want_, Spike?”

“I want…I want to please you, Master. I want to make you happy so you’ll keep me. Please…please keep me, Master.” He hated the sad begging of his tone, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. Any other fate but this was unspeakable.

Master pressed his thumb into the wet slit of Spike’s cock, making him hiss, and whispered in his ear: “I’m going to keep you. I won’t let anyone else have you.”

And Spike wanted to cry with relief at these words and with grief that this is what his existence had come to.

But Master’s hand kept moving, and soon enough his cock was moving, too, deep inside Spike, and they spent the afternoon having a long, slow shag, followed by a brief nap. Then they got up and showered and Master threw a few things into a suitcase, and Spike made him a salad and some sautéed chicken breast, and as soon as Spike could go outside, they left.

Spike missed driving. He’d never liked horses much, and he’d taken to automobiles almost as soon as they were invented. He loved the feel of all that power under his control, loved the rush of the world whizzing by. Now, of course, vampires were forbidden to drive. But at least Master let him sit in the passenger seat like a proper person and he could roll down his window a little and enjoy the scenery.

The resort was perched high on a cliff and in their room, one whole wall was floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. All necrotinted, Master said, so there was no risk of Spike incinerating. He could spend all weekend looking at the sun, could even watch the glory of the sunset over the Pacific. There was a Jacuzzi in the room, as Master had promised, and they could sit in it and watch the waves crashing over the rocks below. There was just one bed. There was a cage, too, at the foot of the bed, but Master assured him that he would not be sleeping in there. And that was nice, because he hadn’t slept with Master since the hotel.

Master had packed some blood for Spike, and he ordered big, extravagant meals from room service for himself. Obviously, Spike thought, his employer was paying him very well. They spent almost all weekend in the room, shagging and eating, soaking and watching movies on the enormous telly, and Master laughed and joked and was almost relaxed. Spike gave him long massages.

There was a large lawn area with tables and a bar, and in the evenings they went there and Spike would Kneel on the soft grass at Master’s feet while Master sipped at his scotch and ran his fingers absently through Spike’s hair. The dozen or so other guests would be arrayed at other tables, all of them looking rather posh in expensive clothes, and almost all of them with a pretty slave Kneeling beside them. Most of the slaves’ eyes were fuzzy with the drugs, but Spike noticed one whose gaze was sharp and bright. He was thin and not very tall, with fine, café-au-lait skin and straight black hair. A delicate beauty, really. His collar was platinum and studded with several jewels. His owner was a silver-haired man in his late sixties who leaned heavily on the vampire as he walked. When he was sitting, the man constantly stroked the vampire’s head and shoulders and the slave leaned in against him, a look of adoration in his eyes. Spike wondered what would happen to that slave when his owner, inevitably, died.

 

[Part 6](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/24764.html#cutid1)


	11. August 2015 (part 6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's chapter is short and angsty (the angst is a big surprise, isn't it? *g*). You may want to slap one of the characters. But we can all catch our breaths, I guess, because tomorrow's chapter will be long and eventful.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 6**_  
**Chapter Title:** August 2015 (part 6)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Today's chapter is short and angsty (the angst is a big surprise, isn't it? *g*). You may want to slap one of the characters. But we can all catch our breaths, I guess, because tomorrow's chapter will be long and eventful.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**AUGUST 2015**

 

1.

“I can’t do this.”

Lindsey looked up from his computer and lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you were with the team on this, Xander.”

Wearily, Xander sank into a chair. He’d been out late last night with Lindsey and some of the lawyers from the entertainment division. There was a premiere and then an after-party, and the stars were both clients. Xander had drunk a lot of expensive champagne and danced with Natalie Portman and Neil Patrick Harris, and when the limo had dropped him off at home he’d still been so drunk that Spike had had to help him get undressed. Now his head was pounding and he needed a nap and he had to deal with Lindsey.

“I am with the team. I’m not saying I don’t want to do this, I’m saying I can’t.”

Lindsey sat back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. “Why not?”

“I’m not an architect. Give me good enough blueprints and I can build just about whatever you want. But you’re asking me to divide this thing into pieces like a puzzle, and to make sure each part of the puzzle works, and they work together. I just don’t have the know-how. You need an architect, not a carpenter.”

“What if you could learn architecture?”

Xander laughed. “You wanna send me back to school? I don’t think so. I’m not much of a scholar. It’d take me years to get through, and you don’t have years.”

“There’s other ways to learn besides school, Xan.”

Xander didn’t say anything. He needed to go lie down. He needed a drink.

“You know we have some scientists and shit on the payroll, right? They got this technique—they can pour a whole degree’s worth of learning straight into your brain. Takes a day or two.”

The idea of scientists putting things in brain reminded Xander of Spike and his chip. It made him distinctly uneasy. “Uh, Lindsey, I’m not too hot on people messing with my brain. It may not be such a great one, but it’s the only one I got.”

“Oh, it’s fine. They’ve done it a bunch of times.”

“To you?”

“No,” Lindsey laughed. “Although it woulda been a lot less painful than law school. They don’t do it often because it’s expensive and resource-intensive. But I think you’re worth spendin’ on, Xander.”

Xander rubbed his hands against his aching head. “What would it involve?”

“You just go down to the labs. Have you been there? They’re on two.”

Xander shook his head. He hadn’t even known they existed until now.

“They hook you up to some machines, computers and shit. Probably give you some good drugs. You go to sleep, and when you wake up you’re Frank Lloyd Wright.”

“Shit, Lindsey, I don’t know….”

“You think on it, okay?”

Xander nodded. Think on it. He was pretty sure he knew how that was going to turn out.

 

2.

_Crash!_

Spike was so startled, he nearly fell out of bed. He tore into the living room, where he found Master looking down in bemusement at a broken lamp. He could smell the alcohol on his breath from across the room.

“Hi, Spike!” Master grinned at him. Even completely pissed, he was still quite a sight in his tuxedo.

Spike stepped over to him, gingerly avoiding stepping on the bits of broken glass. “It was a good one, Master?”

“Kanye West played a coupla songs, and I had this long conversation with Quentin Tarantino. Quentin Tarantino!”

“That’s good, Master.” Spike took his arm and led him around the debris and into his bedroom. Master collapsed on his bed on his back. Spike untied his laces and slid off his shoes, then his socks. The jacket came next. By the time he got to Master’s trousers, Master was out cold, which made it bloody hard to undress him. Still, Spike managed, and he hung the tux on a hanger, making a mental note to remind Master to get it cleaned. Then he scooted Master to the center of his bed and pulled the covers over him.

He looked down at the sleeping man. This was the second time this week he’d come home drunk, and the fourth he’d been out late. They hadn’t shagged in days. It wasn’t that Spike begrudged him some fun. It was just that he seemed exhausted all the time, and Spike barely saw him.

With a heavy sigh, Spike went back to the living room where he picked up the pieces of the lamp and threw them in the rubbish bin. Then he padded back to bed. Looked like it was another solo wank for him.

In the morning, Xander drained a glass of milk and headed for the door. Then he paused for a minute and looked at Spike, who was leaning in his bedroom doorway. “I’ve gotta go to Vegas again. Leaving tomorrow, be back Sunday.” That was two nights. “You have enough blood to last?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Need anything else? I can pick you up some more books today if you want.”

“No, I’m fine, thank you, Master.” Master had set up an Amazon account for Spike last month, warning him not to spend more than five hundred a month without asking first. A new shipment had just arrived yesterday. Spike loved seeing that box in the post.

“Okay. And, uh, I’m sort of having this procedure done on Monday. I’ll have to spend a night or two there, probably.”

Procedure? Spike didn’t like the sound of that. After hanging about with all those actors, had Master suddenly decided he needed Botox or something? But he merely nodded, and Master left.

Spike tried to surf the net or read a book or play _Grand Theft Auto_, but he couldn’t settle down. He was worried. Master had said a few months ago that he planned to keep Spike, but since then he had grown increasingly distant. Not that they’d been best mates before, but now he seemed to hardly notice Spike at all. Even when he wasn’t off at parties, or at his desk buried in papers, he said little. His mind was clearly somewhere else, and Spike had no idea where that might be. And despite the fancy clothes and movie stars, Spike sensed a darkness hovering around Master. It wasn’t just Master’s usual sadness; this was something sinister that he could almost taste. He wished, not for the first time, that he knew what Master’s job entailed.

And then Spike had a very dangerous thought.

He waited until the following morning, when the limo had taken Master off to the airport. Then he crept into Master’s room and turned on the computer.

His hands trembled as he worked the mouse. It’s not that he had any moral compunctions about what he was doing—snooping around someone’s electronic files was hardly the most evil thing he had ever done. It was fear that made him shake—fear of his fate if Master found out. He knew there was a well-spring of anger hidden deep inside the man, and he didn’t want to find out what would happen to him if that well were tapped.

It only took a moment of thought and a single try to guess Master’s password. Willow. There was a photo of her beside Master’s bed, the only real personal item of his on display in the flat. The picture was an old one, taken in front of Sunnydale High before it was destroyed, and Spike wondered where the girl was now.

This reminded him again of Buffy, and the way she’d looked at him when he was in the Initiative labs. It was months after he’d been caught and chipped, and he was splayed out naked on a table like an animal ready for dissection. He’d seen the recognition in her eyes, had hoped that at least she’d stake him. But she’d only stared at him coldly for a moment and then moved on to the next exhibit. He’d have begged her for final death if he hadn’t been gagged. Had she finally been killed, or had she and Master simply had some kind of falling out?

His thoughts were interrupted as the computer made a small noise, and several folders appeared on the desktop. Spike clicked through them, randomly and quickly at first, and then much slower as he realized what he was looking at.

Hours later, he sighed and shut down the computer.

Who were these lawyers Master was working for and what did they want? What was the purpose of this building he was working on?

Spike understood the bit about the portal. He’d seen them twice before, not counting Sunnydale. Once outside of Rome, where a wizard had opened a small one in order to obtain some ingredients he wanted. It had caused a right mess in the area—perfect hunting grounds for him and Dru—until someone had finally come along and decapitated the wizard and closed the portal. The other had been in Tangier, and a small group of monks of some kind had got themselves killed trying to open it.

Spike didn’t like the idea of Master doing this, not one bit. But what could he do about it, especially when he couldn’t even let on that he knew?

 

3.

Master came home Wednesday night looking haggard. Whatever the procedure was that he’d had done, it certainly hadn’t made him look younger.

Spike met him at the door and took his bag while Master sank into the nearest chair without a word. Spike dropped the bag on Master’s bed and returned to hand him a bottle of Heineken. Master smiled weakly at him.

“Are you hungry, Master? Would you like me to cook you something?”

Master shook his head.

“Shall I draw you a bath, then?”

He perked up a bit at this suggestion.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Spike went to fill the bath. He poured in a of the little citrus-scented oil that he knew Master favored. When the bath was nearly full, he retrieved Master, who’d already drained the beer. He led him into his bathroom, then helped him undress. Master sighed loudly as he sank into the fragrant water.

“May I help, Master?” he asked.

Master just nodded.

So Spike picked up a washcloth and slowly swiped it over Master’s muscular chest and abdomen. By the time he reached the thin line of dark hair that ran below the navel, all of Master seemed relaxed except for his cock, which was very much awake. Master canted his hips slightly upward as Spike stroked the towel across the jutting organ. Spike wondered if Master had shagged anyone else while he was gone. He hadn’t smelled of anyone, but he might have washed well enough to eliminate any scents. Not that Spike had any say in the matter anyway, but he felt an irrational twinge of jealousy at the thought of Master with someone else.

Now, though, Master was with him, and as Spike continued his leisurely, almost teasing caresses, Master suddenly grabbed Spike’s shoulders and pulled him close for a fierce kiss. Spike nearly fell in the water, and then Master was tugging on him and he _was_ in the water, on his knees and straddling Master. The bath overflowed a bit, splashing onto the tile floor.

Master’s big, rough hands smoothed over Spike’s chest, pulling lightly on his nipple rings as they passed them, and Spike was instantly nearly frantic to be touched more.

“Ride me,” Master said, somewhere between a request and an order, and it didn’t matter which, because either way Spike would obey. He wanted to obey.

“Can I…can I slick myself first?”

“Let me.”

Spike stood, one foot still in the bath, the other propped on the edge. He reached back and picked up the bar of soap, which he handed to Master. Master scrubbed it between his palms for a moment, working up a rich, creamy lather. Then he reached up and pressed one slippery finger deep inside Spike. Spike’s rigid cock jumped at the sensation, then jumped again when Master slid in a second finger.

For long moments they remained like that, Master working his digits in and out, Spike standing with his hands hanging uselessly at his side and his eyes watching the avid expression on Master’s face. Finally, Master said, “Now, Spike,” and Spike knelt back down, feeling Master guide himself against and then into his waiting passage. Spike groaned and sank all the way down, taking Master inside him to the root.

It felt so bloody good to be used again.

Spike had only a few seconds to get accustomed to the intrusion, and then Master was thrusting upwards, his hands once again wandering across Spike’s chest, and then downwards, as he toyed slightly roughly with the piercing in his cock. Spike responded by flexing his thighs, moving himself up until he was almost free and then quickly impaling himself again. It hurt a bit—soap didn’t make the best lube—but Spike didn’t care. He had certainly endured much, much worse, and this was his kind Master, the man he…wanted to please.

It didn’t take long for Master to come, and Spike felt a small thrill of power as Master threw his head back and grimaced and yelled, and Spike knew that he had made him do that.

And he was tantalizingly close to his own release, just another few strokes would do it, but Master grabbed his arms and said, “Get off me, Spike.”

Spike froze in confusion. Usually Master took care to make sure Spike climaxed as well, sometimes more than once, but now he just looked angry.

Master pushed him slightly to the side. “Get _off_. I’m tired, my head feels like shit, and the water’s getting fucking cold.”

Spike stood, his legs slightly shaky, and then he helped Master out of the tub. He started to dry him, but Master said, “Don’t. I can do it myself. Just…leave me alone.”

Spike bowed his head and padded to his bathroom, still dripping and hard, to get a towel for himself. After he was dry, he sat down on the edge of his bed. His cock was half-limp now and there was a hard knot in his stomach. He heard the water draining from the bath, heard the toilet flush, heard Master walk to his bed and collapse on the mattress.

Spike just sat, alone, trying not to panic.

 

[Part 7a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/25349.html#cutid1)


	12. October 2015 (part 7a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 7a**_  
**Chapter Title:** October 2015 (part 7a)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

Long chapter today, with *lots* going on. Xander earns more slapping. We take a trip. Shagging. Exposition. Surprises!

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts****

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**OCTOBER 2015**

 

1.

It was a strange sight to come home to.

A beautiful vampire, once renowned for his murderous ways, bare save for a collar and three silvery hoops. Pushing a vacuum cleaner back and forth across the living room floor.

Spike nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned and saw Xander. Obviously, he hadn’t heard him over the racket he was making. He turned off the machine.

“Master! I didn’t expect you home so….” His words trailed off and he swallowed, looked down at his feet.

“Yeah, I had a meeting cancelled and I’m dead tired. Don’t vacuum any more—my head is splitting.”

Spike nodded and walked over to unplug it. He coiled the cord neatly around the handle and then pushed the vacuum away to the broom closet. When he came back, he took Xander’s briefcase from his outstretched hand and set it on the floor next to the couch. Then he slid Xander’s suit coat off his shoulders and arms, and took it away to Xander’s bedroom, no doubt to hang it up there. When he returned, he snagged a beer out of the fridge, twisted off the top, and brought it over.

Xander took a long, grateful swallow, then walked over and collapsed on the couch. Spike hovered.

“Go make me something to eat, okay?”

“What do you want, Master?”

“I dunno. You think of something.”

Xander watched tv while Spike cooked. He flipped through the channels, watching a recap of last night’s game, a few minutes of the news, part of a history of the War of 1812.

He felt exhausted. No, that wasn’t right. He _was_ exhausted, but he felt very little. He was almost all hollow.

Somewhere, a part of him was yelling at him and calling him an idiot for allowing himself to get mixed up in this shit with Wolfram &amp; Hart. Lindsey kept telling him it was no big deal, but deep in his heart, he knew better. Nothing good would come of this project. He didn’t listen to the voice inside. _La la la la, can’t hear you!_

There was a small clatter of dishes from the kitchen, and Xander cringed. What the fuck was he doing with Spike? What the fuck was he doing _to_ Spike? He knew, he _knew_ it wasn’t right either, but he so couldn’t deal with that right now. So he kept taking the cold comfort of Spike’s body, because Spike kept offering it and it was his to take. And every time he did, a small part of him died, and soon he’d be as much a walking corpse as Spike was.

“It’s ready, Master.” Spike’s voice was soft, as if he didn’t want to disturb him. Xander heaved himself up and walked into the dining area, then threw himself back down next to the table.

Spike had made pork chops, pan seared, with some kind of sauce on top. There was a vegetable puree on the side and some pasta, and another open bottle of Heineken as well. Spike hovered again while he ate, bringing him another beer when this one was gone. The sound of his own chewing and swallowing irritated Xander.

When he was finished he got up and Spike immediately cleared away the dishes. Xander wandered back to the couch and the television, and he heard the sound of water running and cutlery rattling.

Eventually, Spike joined him. He Knelt on the carpet at Xander’s feet, silent, his head bowed. He was stunning, the perfect picture of a captivating captive, his skin glowing like mother-of-pearl, his light-brown hair curled softly on the nape of his neck, his long cock starting to fill under Xander’s steady gaze. His hands were crossed at the small of his back.

Xander hated him.

Why did he always have to be _there_? Sexy and dangerous and submissive at once, soulless and seeming to judge Xander with every flash of his blue eyes, helpless and demanding and ingratiating and knowing, like a ghost of Xander’s past, like a mockery of his present.

Spike rolled his gaze upward, blinked slowly. He unclasped his hands and, tentatively, placed one cool palm on Xander’s upper thigh, two inches from his zipper. Xander didn’t move. Almost too slow to see, Spike’s hand crept northwest, and by the time it lay across Xander’s fly, Xander’s cock was hard and pressing uncomfortably against his clothing.

Spike’s hand moved up slightly more and his fingers started to fumble with Xander’s button.

Xander wanted him.

Xander drew his own hand back and, hard as he could, swung it forward, landing a stinging, open-faced blow across the vampire’s sharp cheek.

Spike fell back and to the side, his mouth open in shock, a red mark already visible on his skin. A mark that Xander had put there.

Xander lurched to his feet, stomped into his room, and slammed the door behind him.

 

2.

“Got a passport?”

“Huh?” Xander had been deep in project plans when his door burst open.

“I said, got a passport?”

“Uh, no.”

“Check in with June on three. She’ll get the paperwork set up for you. You’ll need it by Monday.”

“Oookay. Where am I going?”

Lindsey plopped down into the chair opposite Xander’s cluttered desk.

“_We_ are going to London, baby. You, me, Holland, three or four others.”

Xander put down his pen. “Why?”

“We have a meeting with some…prospective partners. To discuss this project.” He tapped a finger on the biggest pile of papers.

“Do I need to prepare something?”

“No. Holland’ll probably do most of the talkin’ ‘cause this is his baby. You’re just there to answer technical questions.”

“Okay. Um, how long will be gone?”

“’Bout a week. We gotta do a certain amount of schmoozing, too, ya know?”

Fuck. A week. But…Spike.

“Lindsey, I have—“

“What? Other plans? A hot date? What?”

Xander sighed. “A vampire.”

Lindsey laughed. “Your vampire can take care of itself for a week. Just lock it up somewhere, it’ll be fine. That’s what I do.”

Xander hadn’t realized that Lindsey even owned a vampire. He’d never seen it. Maybe, like Xander, he preferred to keep it to himself.

“You don’t like that idea, do you, buddy?”

“No…it’s just that—“

“You know they have vamp services, don’t ya? They’ll come by, feed it, whatever you want. Or we got some storage space down in the basement, you could always use that. You’ll have to, someday, when we send you away for longer than a week.”

Xander was thinking about how to respond when Lindsey slapped his palm on the desk. “Anyway, this time it don’t matter, because you’re gonna take it with.”

“What?” Yeah, Xander was full of brilliant questions today.

“A couple of the guests at this meeting, they’re impressed with shit like that. They always show up for these meetings with a whole string of things in chains. So it’s cool. You’ll bring yours, Holland’ll bring one or two of his, maybe the others’ll bring some, too.”

“Lindsey, how do you get a vampire to London?”

Lindsey laughed again. “We’ll have our own plane, Xander,” he said, like Xander was a slightly slow child. “Necrotinted. Your toy won’t burn.”

Xander sat, there, blinking stupidly. London. Monday. With Spike.

Lindsey stood and walked around Xander’s desk, then crouched down alongside him. He slung his arm across Xander’s shoulders and moved in very close. “It’ll be good, Xan. We’ll put on a nice show, make Holland and the Senior Partners very happy. When this project is a go, the sky’s the limit. Remember what Holland asked you—what’s your heart’s desire?”

Xander wasn’t any closer to knowing the answer to that question than he was months ago. In fact, the answer was even more elusive now, because he no longer knew his heart at all. Had to check, sometimes, to make sure it was still beating. Right now, though, he could definitely feel it beating, hard, as Lindsey’s burning eyes were just inches from his own.

Then the lawyer stood and grinned. “Go see June. She’ll get you squared away. And I’ll have Barry bring you some more details on our trip later today.”

Then he left.

There was a bitter taste in Xander’s mouth when he got home. Spike was standing near the door, silent, beer in his hand. Xander took it from him, and Spike, as always, put away his briefcase. As if Xander was too feeble to get it to the desk himself.

Xander sat on the couch. “C’mere,” he said.

Spike did, and he Knelt, and he cringed away slightly when Xander leaned toward him. “When’s the last time you were in England?”

Spike’s head shot up. “Master?”

“England. When were you there last?”

“Erm…early 90’s, I expect, Master. Dru and I spent a few weeks there.”

“We’re going on Monday.”

Spike’s eyes got comically round.

“I have a meeting and I’ll be in London for a week, and I’m supposed to take you. I’ll have to parade you in front of these bigshots on your leash and you’ll have to be perfect. And when you’re in the hotel room without me you have to stay in a cage. Can you handle it, Spike?”

It was kind of a stupid question. What choice did Spike have?

But Spike nodded and said, “Yes, Master,” very softly.

“Maybe…maybe we’ll get a little free time. You can sort of show me around.”

Spike nodded again.

Xander had no idea how Spike felt about this. Was he happy to go back to his hometown? Was he dreading going back as a slave? No use asking him—he’d just say whatever he thought Xander wanted to hear.

 

3.

The limo showed up just after sundown on Monday.

Spike carried Master’s suitcase down the lift for him. He didn’t need one—not like he had any kit to pack, did he? They climbed in the back of the car and Master settled on the seat while Spike Knelt in front of him. It was hard to keep his balance as the car moved, but he managed. Master was nervous, drumming his fingertips on his leg, staring blankly out the window.

When they arrived, the limo took them straight out onto the tarmac by the airplane. Master got out of the car first, holding Spike’s leash in one hand and his laptop in the other, and Spike trailed slightly behind. They stopped to retrieve Master’s luggage, and Spike carried it as they crossed to the jet. He was thankful that he was permitted to walk, anyway. Another man had just emerged from a different limo, and his slave was crawling along behind him on all fours.

A man in a uniform smiled at Master and took the suitcase from Spike, and then Spike was following Master up the stairs that led to the open plane door.

Spike had never been in an airplane before, so his only knowledge of what they were like came from watching films. This looked nothing like the commercial jets he’d seen there. There were two large seating areas, each with thickly stuffed leather chairs and a central table. A cupboard along one wall held a large television and a bar, as well as several closed cabinets. One door led to the cockpit, and another to the rear of the jet.

Several humans were already seated inside, talking and drinking, and two other vampires, one male and one female, were tethered to hooks in the corner. They were both Kneeling with their heads down.

As soon as they entered, a fairly short, muscular man stood and walked over. He shook Master’s hand and then stared appraisingly at Spike. Spike dropped his own gaze to his feet and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Oh, Xander, very pretty,” said the man. “I can see why you’ve been wantin’ to keep it to yourself.”

“Uh, thanks, Lindsey.”

Oh, Master’s boss. Spike had heard Master speak to him on the phone many times. He’d pictured the man older and less…attractive.

Lindsey put his hand under Spike’s chin and lifted his head. Spike carefully kept his eyes averted as the man inspected him. “Yeah, real nice. You musta paid a pretty penny for this one.”

“Um, well, he—it was worth it.”

Despite the change in the pronoun Master used to refer to him, despite the entire meaning of this interchange, Spike felt a small thrill of satisfaction at Master’s words. He said he was worth it.

“Come have a seat, Xan. We’re gonna take off soon. You can stick your vamp over there. Holland wants to talk for a while, and they’re gonna get us somethin’ to eat. There’s beds in the back if you wanna catch a few winks later. It’ll be about noon when we land.”

Spike followed Master to the corner, where Master latched the end of his leash. For a moment, Spike wondered if he was going to have to Stand or Kneel all the way to England, but Master told him to sit. Spike flashed him a small, grateful glance and then sank down onto his arse.

Two more vampires were brought onboard. They made quite a collection. Spike was the only one permitted to sit. One poor bloke was ordered to Present. They all looked to be top-quality pleasure slaves.

A very short time later, an attractive bird in a uniform closed the door, the pilot made a few announcements, and then they were moving. Spike’s stomach fluttered nervously. He wondered, if an airplane were to crash-land into the North Atlantic, would a vampire survive, and in what condition? He couldn’t see much out the windows, but he could feel when the wheels left the earth. The noise of the plane was almost painful to his sensitive ears.

The humans chatted and ate and drank. Spike didn’t bother trying to keep track of what they were talking about; most of it was details about building plans and financing that meant nothing to him. Master was mostly silent, just adding in a few words now and then. Out of the corner of his eyes Spike could see that Master and Lindsey were sitting next to each other, and that Lindsey frequently touched him, patting his arm or laying a hand on his shoulder. Spike smoldered with stupid jealousy.

The other vampires didn’t move. Their pupils were dilated and their eyes unfocused from the drugs. The one closest to Spike, a muscular bloke with short, dark hair and striking green irises, was moaning so quietly that a human standing even very near wouldn’t hear him. He had no visible injuries, but he clearly was in pain.

Eventually, one of the humans, a tall woman, stood and wandered to the back of the plane. Someone else turned on the telly. Master rose and stretched and said he was going to get some sleep. He approached the vampires’ corner.

“You can leave it there, Xan. It ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Lindsey’s voice was full of humor.

“I know. I’d just…rather have it with me.”

“Gonna join the Mile High Club?”

Master sputtered a bit. “No…no. I’m wiped, actually.”

“Sure, sure.” The other humans joined in with Lindsey’s laughter.

Master scowled at Spike and detached the leash, and Spike walked behind him through the rear door. There was a series of doors here and Xander chose one. Inside was a very small chamber containing a bed and a tiny table. Master latched the door behind him. He slipped off his shoes and lay down.

“There’s room on the floor, Spike.”

So Spike crammed himself into the bare place beside the bed. It wasn’t the most comfortable spot he’d ever slept, but it wasn’t the worst, by far. He was certainly a lot better off than the vamps in the main cabin.

Spike and Master were awakened by the pilot’s announcement that they’d be landing soon. Master disappeared for a few minutes, presumably to use the toilet, and then came back to take Spike out to the main cabin. The other slaves were exactly as he’d seen them last, the one still whining almost inaudibly.

After landing, the plane taxied into a huge hangar, where the vampires could disembark without burning up. As they stood and waited for the luggage, Spike took a deep breath. Funny. After all these years, it somehow still smelled like home.

Several cars were waiting for them. Master, Lindsey, and Spike climbed into one of them, with Spike Kneeling on the floorboards between the men. Apparently, the windows were necrotinted here as well. As they drove away, Spike wanted very badly to look outside at the scenery he hadn’t seen in twenty-five years or so, but instead he kept his head docilely bowed. Throughout the ride, Lindsey kept sticking out his hand and playing with Spike’s hair, stroking his skin, and it took a great deal of will not to flinch away.

Traffic must have been heavy, for the car moved slowly and kept stopping and restarting. That was nothing new, Spike thought. He remembered when it was all horses and carriages, but even then, it was sometimes faster to walk than to ride.

Finally, they pulled into an underground car park. A dozen or so humans leapt forward to fetch the suitcases from the cars, and then everybody took the lift into a hotel lobby. It was dazzling, all marble and gold. In the center there was a fountain: a vampire with more than a passing resemblance to Michelangelo’s David had been covered in gilt and arranged in a seductive pose in the center of a great marble bowl. A large pipe snaked up his arse, and, presumably, all the way through his body, for a spout of water jetted from his perpetually open mouth. If it weren’t for his eyes, you could mistake him for a statue, but his eyes were animate and aware, and filled with misery. The vampire’s cock protruded stiffly from his groin.

There was a sharp tug on Spike’s collar. He turned toward Master, who was glaring at him. He tried to blink an apology, and he followed Master up another lift—this one a glass affair that allowed him to look down on the lobby and the unfortunate fountain—and up to the twenty-third floor, which was the next-to-highest floor in the building.

The room was a beautiful suite. The larger room held two sofas, some chairs, a table, and a workspace. There was a bathroom as well. The smaller room was still spacious, and inside was a huge bed. At the foot of the bed was a gilded cage. Spike wouldn’t be able to fully stretch out in it, or even to sit upright. Another bathroom was attached to this room, this one with a large bath and an enormous shower.

Master’s bags had already been brought up. He set his computer on the desk and unzipped his suitcase, pulling out some shorts and a t-shirt. He stripped off his slacks and button-down and changed into his workout clothes, pulling on some trainers as well.

“I’m gonna go exercise a little and take a nap before dinner. You have to be in the cage when I’m not here.”

“Yes, Master,” Spike said meekly.

Master came closer and unclipped the leash, which he threw on the bed. He laid a palm on Spike’s shoulder, and Spike shivered at the tender touch. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave the radio on if you want, okay?”

Spike nodded.

Master’s hand ran down Spike’s bicep, caressing him softly. “Later, we’ll do something together. Maybe a walk and a bath, okay?”

It had been weeks since Master spoke to him in this tone of voice, and Spike found his throat too tight to answer. Stupid sod. So he merely nodded again.

Spike walked to the cage, determined to submit with as much dignity as possible. Master patted his arse nicely. Long after Master had left, as Spike lay curled on the bars, he could still feel the lingering warmth of Master’s touch.

 

4.

Xander chewed and smiled and tried to ignore the way the man next to him was ogling Spike. The man was M. Fournier, who was some big shot in the French government. He was fat and he had a bad comb-over, and he could hardly eat for all his leering. Xander wanted to punch him right in his bulbous nose, but Lindsey and Holland would hardly approve. Xander was supposed to be making nice.

So he cut and swallowed his steak, which was actually pretty good, and he tried to radiate a little reassurance to the vampire at his feet. Spike was being absolutely perfect, but Xander knew he was miserable. He’d even been happier crammed in that little cage than he was displayed in front of these people like a fancy toy. Which is all he was, really.

There were other vampires in the room, too, and a slender purplish demon with startling orange eyes. It had voluptuous breasts and an impressively large dick, and Xander wasn’t sure of its gender, or whether those demons were naturally built like that or if maybe its owner had had it modified. Its owner was Frau Keller, a petite woman with blonde hair piled up in some complicated sort of knot. Frau Keller had her slave’s leash clipped to her ornate gold bracelet, and every time the woman made a particularly forceful gesture with her arm, the slave would jerk forward with a choked noise.

After dinner, they adjourned into the adjoining lounge for drinks. Spike had to crawl after Xander. He’d warned Spike that this was going to happen—Lindsey said they needed a particular display of subservience and obedience from the slaves—and of course Spike hadn’t complained, but it made Xander clench his jaw. Spike might have been a vampire and a slave, but he wasn’t an animal.

Xander ended up seated on a low sofa with Lindsey on one side of him and M. Fournier on the other. Xander had subtly jockeyed Spike in between him and the lawyer. Much as it pained him to see Lindsey fondle Spike, it would have been even worse to have to endure the corpulent Frenchman doing the same. Spike had nestled in as close to Xander’s leg as he could get, and Lindsey was fidgeting a little, running his the toe of his boot up and down Spike’s spine.

Lindsey and M. Fournier were having a long conversation in French, of which Xander caught maybe one word in a hundred. But apparently Wolfram &amp; Hart had recently upgraded the lawyer’s linguistic abilities the same way they’d taught Xander architecture. “I’m good with my mouth,” Lindsey had told Xander earlier, smirking broadly. Now, Xander had no idea what they were talking about as they spoke over him, but he tried not to look too bored, or too stupid.

“Monsieur Harris, I wonder if you would be willing to tell me where you found such a superbe vampire?”

“Uh, Walker &amp; Sons.”

Lindsey leaned forward a little. “They’re our clients, actually.”

“Ah. And are all of their wares of such high quality? Because I should very much like to find for myself a slave of such beauty and compliance.”

“Walker &amp; Sons are the best in the biz,” said Lindsey, his fingers toying with Spike’s hair. “Only grade-A goods for them.”

“Perhaps you could send me their contact information, Monsieur McDonald.”

“Sure. Hang on just a sec.” Lindsey pulled out his electronic assistant and pushed a few buttons. “There ya go. They’re in LA. I’ve sent you the direct line for Ron Walker himself; just tell him I referred you.”

“Merci beaucoup.”

Xander reflected sourly that Lindsey hadn’t done this for him when he’d initially asked about the slavers. But then Lindsey had barely known him then, had he?

“And Monsieur Harris, if you should ever consider parting with this particular vampire, I do hope you will keep me in mind. I’m certain we might reach a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Xander felt Spike’s muscles stiffen against him. He replied, as politely as he could manage, “Okay. But I’m pretty attached to this vampire.”

Spike relaxed slightly and Xander thought he heard him let out a tiny sigh of relief.

The evening dragged on forever, business talk and small talk and downright gossip. Several other people came by, ostensibly to chat with Xander, but in reality probably more to eyeball Spike. When a tall English guy with hugely bushy eyebrows actually started to stroke Spike’s shoulders while trying to persuade Xander to allow him to borrow the vampire, Xander had had enough. He stood, and, blaming jetlag, pulled Spike behind him to his room.

With the door closed behind them, he turned and told Spike to stand. He put his hands on Spike’s shoulders. “I won’t give you away, okay?”

Spike looked up at him, obviously unconvinced. “Yes, Master.”

“I mean it. I know neither of us really chose this situation, but I guess you’re mine. And I’m not gonna share you. Unless you want me to?”

Spike shuddered slightly. “No, please, Master.”

“Okay then. Want to go for a walk?”

“Can…can we, please, Master?”

Xander smiled at him. He quickly changed out of his suit and into some jeans and a light jacket. Then he led Spike back down to the lobby, allowing him to actually go upright this time.

It was crisp out, but pleasant. Spike kept falling behind as they walked, so Xander shortened the leash a little. There were very few other people out at this late hour.

“Spike,” he said softly. “Is there someplace you’d like to go?”

“No, Master. This is nice.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Bloomsbury, Master.”

“Is that near here?”

“Dunno. Where are we, Master?”

“Uh, Knightsbridge?”

“It’s a couple of miles, Master.”

“Want to go? We could walk, or I could get us a cab.”

Spike shook his head. “No, thank you. Not…not so many good memories there, Master.”

For nearly the first time, Xander found himself wondering about Spike as a human. He knew very little. Spike said he’d died a virgin, and there was something about poetry, but that was about it. Xander wasn’t sure if learning more would be a good or bad thing.

They wandered in silence for quite a while. Xander nearly got them both run over when he looked to the left instead of the right for oncoming traffic, but Spike yanked on his leash, pulling them both backwards to safety.

“Shit! Are you okay?”

“Sorry, Master. I—“

“Don’t apologize. You just saved my ass.”

Spike took a deep breath.

“Let’s head back. I really am wiped. We can explore more later.”

Spike followed Xander back to the hotel. He lagged a bit in the lobby, distracted by the fountain again, and that’s when Xander realized that it was a vampire, not a statue. Fuck.

Up in the room, Spike stood, downcast, his leash hanging from his collar. He’d been subdued like this—fearful really—for a while. Since Xander had been pulled into this project. And Xander knew it was his fault. He’d been treating Spike like crap, and the vampire hadn’t done anything to deserve it. It was just…Xander felt something malevolent shifting inside him, and he wasn’t sure whether it had recently grown there, or whether it had always existed, and was only now coming closer to the surface. And he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do about it, either. He knew it wasn’t good, but where had being good got him? This…thing…inside him was powerful, and he liked that.

Now, though, he sighed and slipped off his shoes. At least he could treat Spike nicely for a few hours.

He unhooked the leash and threw it onto the table. “Spike, why don’t you go fill the tub? Good and hot, okay?”

Spike nodded and padded to the bathroom, while Xander contemplated another difficulty. Spike hadn’t fed in almost 24 hours, and Xander had no idea how to find him blood here. The hotel could supply synthblood, of course, but Xander didn’t want to do that to him. Well, he guessed he could ask Spike what he wanted.

He stripped as he walked, and by the time he reached the tub he was as bare as Spike. Barer. No collar or piercings. Spike was standing and watching the water rise. Xander came up behind him and grasped his shoulders, then planted a kiss on the back of Spike’s neck, just below the hairline. Spike exhaled sharply and leaned back a little. Xander did it again, and then stepped around him and into the tub.

He turned off the water, then gestured to Spike. “C’mon in.” He guided Spike so that the vampire was facing him, each of them leaning against an end of the tub, their legs intertwined. For several minutes, Xander just lay back and enjoyed the feel of the water. He opened his eyes, then, and rubbed his hands on Spike’s shins.

Spike’s eyes were wide and blue as a summer sky.

Xander smiled at him, a sad sort of smile, he suspected, and Spike swallowed and breathed in deeply.

“Spike, we sort of have a problem.”

Shit. Spike flinched visibly at that.

“It’s not…. Blood. I don’t have any of the real stuff to give you, and we’ll be here a week. I don’t want you having that chemical shit, but you can’t go a week without eating, can you?”

“I can go forever with out feeding, Master.”

“Yeah, but then you’ll be really hungry and weak, right?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And eating food—real food—that won’t help?”

Spike shook his head.

“How little can you get by on and still not be miserable?”

“About…a half pint a day, Master.”

“Okay. Let me… let me think on it. Meantime, I’m gonna leave a note for the maid, so they don’t try to feed you while I’m out.”

Spike nodded. And for a long time, they were silent. Xander tried to push thoughts of Wolfram &amp; Hart out of his head, tried to push all thoughts out of his head, really. It didn’t work. He wondered what Spike was thinking about. Did he have happy memories to fall back on? What were they? Draining the multitudes? Terrorizing the innocent? Right now, with his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks and his hair curled damply at his neck, he looked innocent himself.

Xander sighed and reached behind himself to drain the tub. He stood and stepped onto the bathmat, grabbed a towel and roughly ran it over himself, and motioned for Spike to get out as well. When he did, Xander took another towel and dried the vampire off. Spike stood mutely, allowing his body to be moved around slightly. When he was dry, Xander dropped the towel on the floor and grabbed his hand.

He led Spike into the bedroom, up against the bed, then gently tipped him on his back on the mattress. Xander spread apart his legs, which were still hanging over the edge, and knelt between them. As Spike’s eyes went huge as saucers, Xander gently took the limp cock in one hand and cradled the soft ballsac in the other. Spike held his breath.

Very, very slowly, Xander brought his face forward, then he blew on the sensitive skin. Spike shivered and Xander watched as his cock began to stiffen. He rubbed the tips of his fingers on the insides of Spike’s thighs, very close to where his legs met his torso, and blew again. Then he leaned forward just a little more, his knees pressing into the thick carpet, and touched his lips to Spike’s scrotum.

Spike’s cock twitched and he made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

Delicately, Xander stuck just the tip of his tongue between his lips and touched it to the red, hairless skin. He moved one of his hands over from Spike’s thigh and carefully pushed his scrotum up a bit, then ran his tongue down Spike’s perineum and almost to the pink, puckered hole. Spike was frozen now, as if he were afraid to move.

“You taste good, Spike. Like…soap and salt. Clean.” He licked again, this time over the hole itself, and Spike whimpered quietly.

Suddenly, he stood. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Don’t move. But stay nice and hard for me, okay?”

And he left the room.

 

[Part 7b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/25676.html#cutid1)


	13. October 2015 (part 7b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 7b**_  
**Chapter Title:** October 2015 (part 7b)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

Long chapter today, with *lots* going on. Xander earns more slapping. We take a trip. Shagging. Exposition. Surprises!

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts****

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
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5.

Spike didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t dare.

He didn’t know what had caused the sudden change in Master, didn’t bloody care, just didn’t want him to change back again.

It had been awful and humiliating to crawl around in front of those tossers, to be poked at like a prize ham. But Master hadn’t liked it either, had even told that fat frog that he was attached to him.

And then he got to walk outside, in London. Naked and on a leash, to be sure, but still, it was something. It was home. And when he’d had to drag Master out of the way of that lorry, Master hadn’t punished him. He’d asked whether Spike was hurt, and said that Spike had saved him.

And then the bath, and Master’s gentle mouth on him….

Staying erect was not a problem.

Master re-entered the room shortly.

“Sit up,” he said, and Spike did. Master was holding a glass of red liquid in his hand, just like he had that time in that other hotel. And, just like then, there was a bandage tied thickly around his left wrist.

“Here,” Master said, holding out the glass.

Hesitantly, Spike took it.

“Go ahead and drink. I figure I can keep you going today and tomorrow, and we’ll wing it from there.”

“But—“

“Go on. I’ve already bled, you might as well use it.”

Spike took a long swallow, feeling the wonderful stuff coat his throat and throb through his body. It was borrowed life. The animal blood Master had been giving him was infinitely better than the chemical shite, but this, this was as close to heaven as he was going to get.

With a last grateful sip, Spike drained every drop. His cock was pounding as if he had a pulse.

Master took the glass away and set it on the chest of drawers. Then he again pushed Spike back onto the silky sheets and positioned himself between Spike’s legs. A moment later, he resumed where he had left off, lapping his agile tongue along Spike’s skin, tasting him. When he actually entered the hungry little hole, Spike went rigid and swallowed a cry.

For a long time, but not nearly long enough, Master dipped into him, each damp thrust sending warm spasms up Spike’s spine. And when he couldn’t stand it, and might have begged for more, Master abruptly stopped and lifted his head.

“Want a present? I’ve been sort of saving it for a while, but I didn’t…. Anyway, want it?”

“Yes, Master, please.” It could be a vial of holy water, Spike didn’t care; right now he wanted whatever Master would give him.

Master’s fingers replaced his tongue now, and they were long and broad and slick, and Spike impaled himself on them and rocked his hips wantonly. But soon, they, too, were removed, and Spike almost sobbed.

But then something else was against him, something hard and slippery, and before he could tense it was in him. It didn’t hurt, though, not like the various objects he’d had rammed inside him. This was not too thick, and as he wondered what it was, it suddenly began to vibrate.

Bloody hell.

It was a toy of some kind, and not only was it pulsating inside him, but with each movement it was pressing right against his prostate. “M-M-Master!” It was all he could manage.

“You like that?”

Spike could only nod dumbly.

“I’ll bet you’ll _really_ like this, then,” Master said, and bent down to take Spike’s dripping cock into his mouth.

Spike would have come immediately if Master hadn’t squeezed the base of his cock quite firmly. As it was, he was completely lost in the sensations—of live, human blood running through his body; of that clever chunk of plastic quivering inside him; of that warm, wet suction around his glans and halfway down his shaft. Of Master’s other hand, smoothing at his belly like he was calming a nervous pony.

Sometimes Master would pull his mouth off almost completely and would just toy with the ring in the tip of Spike’s cock. Then he would swirl around the crown, pressing hard into the slit, before nibbling lightly along the frenulum and then nearly swallowing Spike whole again.

Spike lost nearly all control of himself. He fisted the sheets tightly to stop himself from grabbing Master’s head and simply jamming himself down Master’s tight throat. A steady stream of incoherent noises was pouring from his mouth. The bones in his face started to shift, his fangs began to drop, and he screamed and fought the change. He hadn’t morphed in many years. Slaves weren’t permitted to show their demon faces; that lesson had been beaten into him very well.

Master glanced up at his face. He slid his lips off of Spike’s cock and Spike sobbed in mingled relief and regret. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“No, M-M-Master,” Spike panted. “Can’t….”

“What?”

“M-my face….”

“Your fa—Do you want to vamp out, Spike?”

Spike shook his head vehemently. “N-n-no! Not, not allowed, Master.”

Master stood and moved around Spike’s dangling legs, then lay down on his side next to Spike. He cupped Spike’s cheek in one hand. The vibrator was still going, though, and Spike bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, even with his blunt, human teeth.

“When…when you feel really good like that, it makes you want your game face?”

Spike nodded miserably. Master had been so good to him, and now he’d ruined it.

“And…you’re not supposed to change, huh?”

“No, Master.”

“When’s the last time you did?”

“In the Bad—the lab, Master. After they caught me.”

“Sixteen years?”

Spike nodded.

“What if…what if your master told you to?”

Spike blinked.

“You’d have to obey, right?”

Spike nodded again, very uncertainly. He didn’t understand what Master wanted of him.

Then Master took his hand away from Spike’s face, and instead grasped Spike’s cock and began pumping it. He placed his mouth almost against Spike’s ear and whispered, “Change.”

Spike couldn’t have stopped it now if he tried. His bones creaked and popped, his fangs emerged with that old, sweet ache. Master nudged Spike’s head slightly to the side, shifted his own body around a bit, and then bit, hard, at the juncture of Spike’s shoulder and neck.

Spike tried to prevent his own climax, but he might as well have tried to halt a speeding train. He tried to warn Master, or maybe beg for forgiveness, but his mouth wouldn’t form words, just a loud, animalistic howl. And he came, stuttering into Master’s hand, semen spurting onto Master and himself and the bed, his eyes blind and his ears deaf.

His hips finally slowed and Master licked the blood from Spike’s skin and gradually ended his strokes of Spike’s sensitized cock. As Spike rode the down wave, trying to regain command of his body, beginning to steel himself for punishment, Master ghosted his lips against Spike’s bumpy brow. Then he reached down and removed the toy, turning it off and tossing it aside.

“Master?” Spike managed to say.

“Shh,” Master replied, and he rose up on one elbow. He gently ran his fingers across Spike’s face, stared into his eyes, and scraped his thumb along the bottom of Spike’s razor teeth.

“I’ve never seen a vamp face this close up. Not like this, anyway. Not when the vampire wasn’t trying to kill me.” He smoothed his fingertips across Spike’s brow. “It’s not…it’s not as ugly as I thought.”

And then he bent down for a kiss, being very cautious to avoid getting sliced on Spike’s fangs.

Spike was completely confused. He felt so bloody good right now. But he’d broken important rules, hadn’t he? Yet Master didn’t seem angry. And fuck if his cock wasn’t reacting to the stimulation now with renewed interest.

Master laughed softly and took the demanding organ in his hand. “Vampire constitution is an amazing thing. What do you want right now, Spike?”

Spike answered honestly. “You, in me. Please, Master?”

Master laughed again. “I can do that.” He stood and returned to the spot between Spike’s legs. He pulled gently on Spike’s legs and Spike got the hint, scooting down a bit so that his arse was nearly hanging off the edge. He lifted Spike’s legs straight up and apart, and, with one smooth movement, sank into the ready channel all the way to the root.

He rocked his hips, slowly, teasingly, his eyes never leaving Spike’s face. After a few minutes, he coaxed Spike’s ankles onto his shoulders. Spike thrust himself downwards to meet every deep stroke.

“Touch yourself.”

Spike did, and Master was aiming himself just right, and soon Spike was gasping and nearly crying and then he came again and Master smiled and sped his own movements. And this time, Spike’s cock didn’t soften at all as Master lurched into him and grabbed his thighs hard enough to bruise and threw his back and roared.

When Master had shuddered to a halt, he withdrew from Spike, making the vampire groan at the loss. But then Master sank to a his knees and, with a quick, wicked smile, took Spike’s cock into his mouth. Soon Spike was crying his own release for the third time, and Master swallowed every drop.

Spike couldn’t move. His face had melted back to human at some point, and the rest of him had apparently turned into a large puddle of goo. Master climbed into bed, and dragged Spike around until they were nestled together under the covers. Soon Master was snoring in his ear, but Spike was wide awake, wanting to relish the rare treat of sharing a bed.

 

6.

Xander was pretty sure that Hell was nothing but meetings. With Powerpoints and spreadsheets and endless agendas. That’s how he spent the morning, although his mind was somewhere else. Back in his room, actually, with Spike, who was currently crammed in that cage, but at least he was sleeping the sleep of the really well-fucked.

After lunch, Lindsey drew him aside. “Okay, Xan. This is it. The big guns are gonna be here this afternoon, and we need to put on our very best show. Got it?”

Yeah, he got it.

“Go get that pretty vamp of yours.”

Xander hated the idea of parading Spike again, but, obediently, he went upstairs and unlocked the cage. Spike smiled at him sleepily, and it was sure nice to see that smile again.

“Sorry, Spike. I need you. Command performance.”

Spike nodded and crawled out of the cage, then walked to the door and waited to be leashed before dropping down to hands and knees. Xander knelt beside him for a moment, one hand on his back.

“I’m sorry about this. I wish—“

“It’s okay, Master.”

Wasn’t that great—Spike reassuring _him_?

Xander leaned in for a kiss, and Spike made a pleased little noise and kissed him back. Xander couldn’t resist a pat on Spike’s rump before standing.

The conference room was already crowded when Xander arrived. Lindsey met him at the door and led him to an empty chair near one end of the table. Spike Knelt behind him, and Xander hooked the end of his leash around his chair arm. There were three dozen or so humans in the room, and nearly a dozen slaves. Xander was relieved to see that M. Fournier was at the other end of the table. The tall woman from Wolfram &amp; Hart—Lilah Something—was on Xander’s other side. And, while she gazed at Spike with an appreciative eye, she seemed less overtly threatening.

Holland was at the head of the table, a white screen behind him and an open laptop in front of him. He smiled broadly at Xander before turning away to chat with the woman on his left.

Xander looked around the room for a moment, but when he saw the man directly across from him, his blood froze in his veins. The man was wearing an expensive-looking suit, obviously custom tailored to fit his well-built frame. His hair was shorter than when Xander had seen him last, there was a scar on one cheekbone that hadn’t been there before, and there were deep creases around his eyes. But there was no question about who he was.

And when he turned his head a moment later and spied Xander, he looked as shocked as Xander felt.

The other man spoke first. “Harris?”

Xander forced a smile. “Finn.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Xander’s our chief architect and project manager.” Lindsey put his hand on Xander’s shoulder in a way that could have been interpreted as friendly or supportive, but which felt more like territorial to Xander. “You two know each other?”

“Uh, yeah. We met back in Sunnydale. Years ago.” Xander wanted very badly to shrug off that hand.

Finn was scowling at him. “You’re an architect?”

“Xan has a lot of skills.” Now Xander wanted to actually hit Lindsey, but at least Finn had turned his frown towards the lawyer.

“Buffy never said—“ Xander was apparently not going to learn what Buffy never said, because just then, Holland stood and cleared his throat.

“Ahem! If I could have your attention, please?” The yakking in the room died away. “Thank you. I believe everyone’s here now, and I’m sure we’re all anxious to begin. I’d like to start with introductions. I’m Holland Manners, as you know. Let’s go around the table, and please say who you are. We’ll begin to my right, with Lindsey McDonald, my right-hand man.”

Lindsey smiled and stated his title, then looked at Xander. Xander gave his name and job descriptions, and then they continued around. A lot of the other people represented European and North American governments, and the rest were from various private companies Xander had never heard of.

When it was Finn’s turn, he said, “Riley Finn. I’m CEO of DRI.”

Xander knew about DRI. Originally a government agency, it was now a public-private partnership. It was the company responsible for developing the chips that controlled slaves. It also ran the demon research labs. Finn’s company was the one responsible for reducing William the Bloody to the naked, cowering creature chained to his chair.

Xander wondered if Buffy was still involved with them. Still involved with Finn, too. But now Holland was talking, and he’d better listen.

“Thank you all for joining us. I think you’ll all be very excited by the opportunity we are presenting today.

“As you know, there are places where the connections between this world and others are considerably closer. Where it is possible to open portals, gateways, as it were, between. Perhaps the most infamous of these are the Hellmouths.” He clicked a button on a remote and there was a map of good old Sunny-D. Out of the corner of his eyes, Xander saw Finn’s jaw muscles tighten. Not too many good memories there for him, either, maybe. There was a certain amount of grumbling in the room as well. Nobody was all that keen on Hellmouths, it seemed.

“But Hellmouths are only the sinister side of these portals. Many of the nexuses are with friendly worlds, useful worlds, worlds whose inhabitants are anxious to trade with us.” There was definitely a more positive response to that.

“Imagine the kinds of exotic goods, the sheer wealth that trade with these worlds might bring.” This slide showed pictures of jewelry and stacks of gold and mysterious-looking machines.

Holland had the room’s full attention now.

“Now, the question, ladies and gentlemen, is what do we have that they might want?” This slide was a big green question mark.

“What we have is a problem, which we can turn into an asset.”

Holland clicked again, and this slide showed a man in prison garb, behind bars. “Each year, the Unites States alone locks up more than two million people in jails and prisons. Worldwide, that number is closer to ten million. And what do these people do while they’re incarcerated? They waste money. They cost tens of thousands of dollars per year each, and contribute nothing meaningful to society.”

He clicks to a bar chart. “The U.S. spends over 45 billion dollars per year on jails and prisons. My own home state of California spends more on prisons than it does on higher education.

“Now, most of these prisoners are young people who could be productive workers. But safety concerns in prisons and the interference of labor unions and others prohibit much in the way of meaningful activity.

“What we propose is simply this. Instead of serving their sentences wasting time and money, these criminals spend their time as workers in these neighboring worlds. Our trade partners pay us for their labor, and instead of spending billions, we earn it.” The last slide was of people in orange uniforms, digging a trench under a sky with three moons.

There was silence for a moment as Holland allowed the concept to sink in. Xander was taken aback—this was the first he’d heard of the entire plan.

Finally, a woman near the other end of the table spoke up. “Mr. Manners, these are human beings you’re talking about, and this is slavery.”

“With all due respect, Ms. Berardi, it’s contract labor. It’s specifically exempted from the 13th Amendment, and it has a long history in the U.S. and abroad.”

“But taking them to---other dimensions!”

“Oh, but even the prisoners will benefit. Time runs differently in these other worlds. Ten years there may be only a month or two here. So the criminal will serve his full sentence, safely away from society, and when he returns he’ll still be young enough to resume his life here.”

“Maybe this’d deter criminals, for once.” The man who said this was a burly Black guy with a salt and pepper buzz cut.

Holland beamed at him. “Exactly.”

“How will we ensure they’re treated humanely?” Berardi again.

“We can provide auditors to inspect the worksites.”

She nodded.

Holland put up another slide. This one had a drawing of a building with the Wolfram &amp; Hart logo at the center. Radiating out from it were the flags and logos of the countries and companies represented at the meeting.

“Specifically, our firm will undertake the rather hazardous mission of opening the portal. We’ll construct a building there in order to facilitate transfers of goods and workers. Our Mr. Harris there will be able to answer your questions about the building shortly.”

Xander shifted uncomfortably in his seat as everyone looked at him.

“Some of you will provide us with the prisoners, of course. Others of you can transport the prisoners and arrange effective methods of management.” He looked straight at Finn when he said that, and Xander’s gut twisted. Did they intend to chip humans, too?

“We will all share in the profits, which will, I assure you, be considerable.”

There were loud murmurs of conversation, which Holland waved away with a downward motion of his hands.

“Now, long term, we see other possibilities as well. Think of the many developing nations that have huge population and labor excesses. What if, instead of crossing the border illegally to work in the U.S. or Europe, workers from these countries could be sent—legally and voluntarily—to another world? They could work for a few years, earn enough to support their family for decades, and return hardly after they’ve left.”

Xander thought about how desperate a person would have to be to agree to that plan.

There was a lot more talking after this, and more slides, and handouts with columns of numbers. Xander was grilled for a while on building costs and times, and even Finn looked impressed when he handled the questions easily.

At very long last, the meeting was over, and they adjourned to a private dining room for dinner. For the first time in hours, Xander could actually look at Spike, who seemed tired and maybe overwhelmed. Xander wondered what the vampire made of Wolfram &amp; Hart’s grand plan.

Xander was seated at a round table with Lindsey and Finn and Frau Keller, the lady with the exotic demon. Spike was Kneeling beside his chair, but Xander had managed to arrange him so that he could lean slightly against Xander’s leg.

Lindsey and the woman got into a long discussion in German, naturally, and Xander and Finn sat awkwardly for several minutes, chewing their food. Finally, Finn said, “So, uh, how’d you end up with these guys?”

“Pretty recently, actually. I was working for a construction firm from Kansas City, and they were representing a guy who was suing us.”

“Yeah? How’d that turn out?”

“Some sort of settlement, I guess.”

Finn nodded and looked at Spike. “Hey, uh, your vampire. It looks familiar.”

Xander could feel Spike tense against him, and it suddenly occurred to him that Finn may have played a part in Spike’s capture. “Well, I suppose you’ve probably seen a lot of vampires.”

Finn sighed and nodded again. “That I have, man.”

The silence dragged again for a while, and again it was Finn who broke it. “So, uh, you married, kids, that sort of thing?”

“Nope. Gay now.”

Finn’s eyebrows flew up comically. “Really? Since when?”

“Since I took the gay pill.”

Finn didn’t get it, and Xander rolled his eyes a little.

“I’ve always been gay. It just took me a while to admit it to myself.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

Xander swallowed. He had to ask. “So, um, you and Buffy?”

Finn grimaced. “Divorced. Five years ago. You two still don’t keep in touch?”

“Haven’t heard from her since Willow died.”

Spike was breaking form a little to blink up at him. Xander guessed this was all news to him, too.

Finn took a big gulp of wine. “Last I heard from her, she was in New York, dating some artist guy.”

Xander was surprised to find himself relieved that she was still alive. “Does she still…slay?”

“I dunno, man. She didn’t much when we were together, but now…who knows?”

Xander was going to reply, but then Lindsey switched to English and asked him to explain the project’s planned air conditioning system to the German lady.

After dinner, there were drinks, and more Spike ogling. Xander tried to keep Spike away from the worst of the invasive hands, and in the process managed to end up trapped in a corner with Lindsey’s arm around his shoulder and a seemingly endless succession of whiskeys in his hand.

Holland came by once and shook his hand and thanked him for his contribution. The man seemed delighted with how the presentation had gone.

Lindsey was thrilled as well, and he kept moving closer and closer, and, as Xander drank more, he cared less and less.

By the time Xander was able to escape the room, he was completely blitzed, as was Lindsey. They leaned into each other a little in the elevator and Xander just tried not to trip over Spike.

Somehow, Lindsey followed Xander into his suite. Where there was more whiskey, of course.

As Lindsey poured, Xander led Spike into the bedroom. He unhooked his leash and ushered him into the cage. “Sorry I didn’t feed you today,” he slurred quietly. “Morning, okay?” Spike nodded and curled into a tight ball.

Xander headed back to the other room where Lindsey was waiting with a glass in each hand. Xander downed his quickly. So did Lindsey, and then he put a hand on Xander’s shoulder.

“You did great today, Xan. Blew ‘em away.”

“Thanks.” While he had grave reservations about the project itself, it felt good to be respected and admired, to be valued for his work.

And then the lawyer moved in a step nearer. “Could blow _you_ away, ya know.” His breath had enough alcohol fumes to constitute a fire hazard. Not that Xander’s was probably any better.

And while Xander was thinking these deep thoughts, Lindsey fell to his knees and started fumbling clumsily with Xander’s belt.

Xander wanted to stop him. He didn’t want this.

Except.

Except there was a part of him that did, and that part seemed to be controlling his body right now, because he said nothing, only emitting a loud hiss when Lindsey fished out his cock and gave it a broad lick.

It turned out the man did have a talented mouth, just as he’d promised.

Moments later, clothes were flying everywhere and Xander was looking uselessly around the room for lube until Lindsey fished a tube of it out of his pants pocket, and Xander so didn’t want to think about why the man was carrying lube in his suit. It didn’t matter right now, as their hands were all over each other and their wet mouths and then Lindsey was bending over the back of the sofa, and waving his round, well-muscled ass at Xander. Who was waving parts of his anatomy right back, actually.

There was very little preparation involved and Lindsey screamed a little as Xander sank into him, but he was also still waving his ass around which was a pretty mixed message. The parts of Xander that were currently functional decided to go with the second part of the message, and he started slamming into the man, hard and fast.

Lindsey felt so different from Spike. Xander hadn’t fucked an actual living human being in over a year, and the heat of him was strange.

And thinking of that reminded Xander that the vampire was in the next room, no doubt extremely aware of what was going on in this one.

He chased away the twinge of guilt with a particularly hard thrust into the lawyer’s pretty ass. It’s not like Xander owed Spike fidelity, after all. They weren’t really lovers. They were…master and slave. And Xander was the master and he could fuck anyone he wanted. And at the moment, he wanted Lindsey.

Lindsey hollered again and Xander hit into him like a jackhammer. One more loud yell from the attorney and he was coming all over the hotel sofa, his muscles clamping down on Xander and milking his orgasm right out of him.

Xander collapsed across Lindsey’s back and they lay there, panting.

Eventually, Xander pulled out and stepped back. Christ. He’d just fucked his boss. He needed a drink.

He poured himself a healthy glassful. As he swallowed, Lindsey stood and turned around and grinned at him like the Cheshire cat. A very naked and buff Cheshire cat.

Wordlessly, Xander handed him a refill of his own.

Lindsey took it and walked over to the window. He pulled back the drapes and looked out at the twinkling lights.

“My Daddy swore I’d never amount to anythin’.” His accent was as thick as honey. “S’pose he figured I’d end up an unemployed drunk, just like him. How about yours, Xan?”

“Same story.”

“Whatta ya think they’d say if they saw us now?”

“My Dad would call me a goddamn faggot and try to kick my ass.”

Lindsey laughed softly. He had a nice back, Xander thought. Good, heavy muscles, a beautiful ass. Skin deeply tanned all over. He had a tattoo, also, across his right shoulder blade. Some sort of curly symbol.

“They never coulda even imagined our life, Xan. My Daddy never owned a car newer’n ten years old in his life. I got three, and I trade ‘em in once a year for new. That shithole of a house we lived in? My garden shed is nicer than that.”

Despite the booze pickling his brain, Xander had a sudden flash of insight. He leaned his ass against the back of the couch. “Is that _your_ heart’s desire, Lindsey? To live beyond your father’s wildest dreams?”

Lindsey turned and threw him a wild smile. “You bet, Xander.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Not yours?”

“I don’t care any more about my father than he cared about me. He’s dead. Nobody remembers him but me, and I’d just as soon forget. Who gives a shit what he dreamed of?”

Lindsey nodded, and for a split second, Xander thought he saw sadness and regret in his deep blue eyes. But then he smiled again, put the glass on the window sill, and walked over. Xander stood and Lindsey slapped him on the ass. “You are endowed with many gifts,” he said, leering at Xander’s damp, flaccid cock. Then he pulled on his pants and his shirt, jammed his feet into his shoes, and slung his jacket and tie over his arm.

“See ya at ten. We still got a lot of negotiatin’ to do.” He shut the door behind him, and Xander was left standing alone.

 

7.

Spike spent most of the rest of the week crammed miserably into the cage.

He was hungry, too. Master had given him some more of his blood, but then couldn’t spare more. The day after, he’d managed to get away from the others and find a butcher’s; he’d returned with a pint of pig’s blood. Since then, though, there had been nothing. Master was busy almost every minute. Spike hadn’t been able to go outside again, had only been dragged downstairs now and then to be prodded at.

But aside from that second night, Master had taken Spike out of the cage each evening, and had stepped into the big shower with him, and then had allowed Spike into his bed. They hadn’t shagged, but it was still nice.

Spike didn’t want to think about that second night, the night Master and Lindsey had fucked in the other room. He knew it was stupid to be jealous. Master could fuck anyone he wanted. Spike was just his plaything. And even if that weren’t the case, this was Xander bloody Harris, not the love of his life. Unlife.

He was jealous anyway.

This morning, Master had looked mournfully at Spike’s hollow belly and written a note, asking the maid to feed him. Maybe, Spike thought, it was for the best. He’d worry less with the drugs in his system, and be much less likely to be disobedient. Maybe he’d even—

Oh, bloody hell. Who was he kidding? He hated the drugs, hated having his mind controlled as well as his body.

But it was only for a few days, Master said, and then they’d return to LA, and Spike could sleep in his own bed and drink real blood again.

Master left the radio on for Spike, but still, he had very little to distract him from his gloomy thoughts. He could consider Master’s employers. Surely these people must see how wrong their scheme was. Surely Master must. Spike was a soulless demon and _he_ saw it. Not that he cared whether there were several million fewer humans on the planet, but he knew that Wolfram &amp; Hart wouldn’t be satisfied with that forever. He strongly suspected their eventual goals were more sinister than that.

And what was Xander Harris doing with that lot? Xander Harris, the Scooby, the white knight. But his halo was a bit tarnished of late, wasn’t it? Spike had realized that for some time. Now, perhaps, he knew why. The boy had crap parents, he’d lost his friends. He had nobody, really. Still, Spike wouldn’t have thought he’d end up in such evil company.

Like Riley Finn.

He had been there when Spike was first captured, had watched as the bitch in the white coat had cut his head open, had laughed as the soldier boys tortured and raped him and Spike had screamed and, eventually, begged. He’d been there, too, when the slayer paid a visit, showing her around with his hand resting possessively between her shoulders.

And Lindsey McDonald, who still smelled of Master several days later.

 

8.

Their last night in London, Xander had pleaded exhaustion and headed back to his room early. It wasn’t a lie—he really was about done in. But that’s not why he left.

When he got upstairs, he unlocked the cage and gathered a slightly woozy vampire into his arms for an embrace. Spike had been on the synthblood only a few days, but already his eyes were fuzzy and he was having trouble speaking clearly. Xander hated to see him like this. At least it would be over soon.

As soon as he clipped on the leash, Spike started to fall to the ground. But Xander caught him. “Walk, please.”

In the elevator, Xander stared in the mirrors at the way the end of the leash just seemed to hang in mid-air.

The fountain was still there. Xander wondered if the vampire ever got a break, or if it was permanently mounted there. Its eyes were as miserable as always.

Outside, they walked. Xander managed not to get run over this time. He regretted coming all this way—his first trip out of the country—and hardly seeing anything but the inside of the hotel. So now they wandered slowly, taking in the sights. Spike was, predictably, subdued, but at least he must have enjoyed this more than that fucking cage.

They came to a park, deserted in the chill night, and Xander led them down a path until they came to a bench. He sat, and when Spike moved to Kneel on the gravel, grabbed his elbows. “Sit on the bench, Spike.”

“I can’t—I’m not—“

“Nobody around to see. C’mon.”

So Spike sat, nervously, and Xander scooted up close until they were pressed together from shoulder to knee.

“Spike? That…that thing with Lindsey the other night? I’m sorry. It was stupid, and it was cruel.”

Spike gaped at him.

“I was drunk, and he’s been hitting on me fucking forever, and…. Christ. I didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want to do that to you.”

None of this was coming out right, and Xander paused a moment to try to get his thoughts in order. He’d been thinking about this all week, when he was supposed to be listening to people droning about sales margins and partnership agreements and transportation options. But it still wasn’t easy to say. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“Spike, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to be hurt, ever again. You understand?”

Spike nodded uncertainly.

“Aaahh! It’s just…neither of us would have picked the other if we’d had a choice, but we didn’t. Especially you didn’t. So here we are, and, and, I like you. Maybe I sorta always did a little. The whole Big Bad thing? It was pretty…sexy.”

Spike lifted one eyebrow, and that made Xander laugh. It felt good.

“Anyway, as long as we’re stuck with each other—and that might be a long, long time—I want us to enjoy it. Us. Not just me. Tell me honestly, Spike, and this is an order. Do you want me?”

Spike stared at him, then swallowed loudly. But he looked Xander straight in the eye, and when he spoke, his voice was clear. “Yes, Master. I want you. Please.” And despite the “Master” and the “please,” he sounded almost like the Spike Xander had met in Sunnydale.

“Good. Good. But I don’t want to be your master. I want…something more equal. So I still have to be, legally and in public. But when we’re home, can I please just be Xander? And you can just be Spike. Not a possession. A…roommate. A friend maybe? A lover?”

Spike’s eyes were shining from the streetlamp. “Are you sure, Master?”

“Yeah. I really am.” And he swept Spike into his arms for a punishing kiss.

 

[Part 8](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/26130.html#cutid1)


	14. January 2016 (part 8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 8**_  
**Chapter Title:** January 2016 (part 8)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

Today's shortish chapter puts us at the halfway point, page-wise. There's another surprise waiting for us. And then catch your breath again, because tomorrow's chapter's a doozy.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   for the beautiful banner! And to Kid and [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)   for the nifty icon!

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
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JANUARY 2016

 

1.

The holidays had been awful, with endless parties and buckets full of fake cheer. He’d just wanted to spend the holidays at home with his vampire.

At least he had Christmas day itself off. He’d remembered last year, and smiled a little, and this year he’d once again filled a glass with his own blood. Spike had vamped out to drink it, then licked his bloody fangs and changed back, and gave Xander his presents: a tray full of brownies, a hot scented bath, a long massage, and then 90 minutes of mind-blowing fellatio.

It was his best Christmas ever.

By mid-January he was working very long hours as the firm prepared to begin construction. It was only going to get worse, Xander knew. Once they’d broken ground he’d probably end up spending hours at the site every day, especially because of the tricky aspects of not letting any of the crews see the whole plan. Lindsey had already arranged for a trailer to be set up at the site as an office for Xander.

Xander didn’t mind working hard. But he still wasn’t feeling at all happy about this project. And any time he spent there was time he couldn’t spend with Spike.

Spike was happier. Xander thought so, anyway. In any case, he was animated when Xander returned home each day, and he smiled sometimes and they had fantastic sex, and he even called Xander by his name. Last week, Xander had given up on the whole separate beds thing—it was really stupid—and invited Spike to sleep with him every night. Spike was pleased about this, and Xander enjoyed having that lithe body to cuddle against, feeling Spike slowly warm as he stole Xander’s body heat. Xander enjoyed the mornings even more, waking up to find those blue eyes only inches away, getting in a good kiss and a nice grope before he had to shower and leave.

But he knew that Spike could not be content for long as a housevamp. Their evening walks weren’t nearly enough to relieve the boredom for him, and dusting and folding laundry weren’t exactly sufficient to keep an active vampire busy. Spike didn’t complain about it. They both knew there were no better options. But they were also both afraid that sooner or later Spike would do something reckless and stupid.

Xander didn’t even want to think about what would become of Spike if something bad happened to Xander. Not that he was planning anything all that dangerous—at least, nothing more dangerous than driving in LA—but accidents happened, and illnesses. Xander knew far too many people who’d died young to assume that he’d live to a ripe old age.

One night, Xander had a dream about the forest. Spike was in it, and the two of them were chasing something. Spike was laughing, though, his mouth bloody, and in the dream, Xander could taste coppery-salty flavors himself. He had ceased to be disturbed by dreams like this, and in fact he kind of liked them. When he woke up, it gave him an idea, too. What if someday he could buy a place somewhere isolated, maybe somewhere in the mountains up north? Somewhere nobody would be around to see if Spike wore clothes, or wandered outside without a leash, or generally behaved like a person instead of an object. Somewhere he could hunt animals, maybe. Xander was being paid ridiculously well, and had few expenses—food, blood, clothes, and books. He could easily save enough money in a few years to buy a place like that. And he could always earn enough to live off of hammering nails and cutting boards.

It was a beautiful dream.

 

2.

Spike killed the last zombie, narrowly avoiding being killed himself. He hooted in triumph and kicked out his leg, nearly upsetting the half-full mug. That calmed him a bit—Xander wouldn’t be too pleased with bloodstains on the carpet.

He put down the controller and drained the cup.

_Resident Evil_ was a bloody brilliant game. He’d have to thank Xander properly when he got home from work.

He glanced at the clock. Ah, time to pop the chicken in the oven.

He remembered to rinse his mug out first, because washing dried blood out of the things wasn’t easy.

Xander continued to be amazed at his domestic skills, but Spike didn’t understand why. It’s not like he’d been some kind of slob, even when he was living in crypts or abandoned factories. In fact, housekeeping in places like that took some imagination and ingenuity, and you had to keep on top of things if you didn’t want to be overrun by filth and vermin. And taking care of one relatively sane human was nothing after a century of looking after a lunatic vampire.

Spike sang softly to himself as he rubbed the spice mixture into the chicken skin, then chopped some onions and carrots. He was close to happy lately. Much closer than he’d expected to ever get again. Xander seemed to genuinely want him, and Spike found himself falling hard for the human. He didn’t tell Xander how he felt—he wasn’t sure Xander would believe that a soulless demon could love anyone anyway—but he tried to show him in small ways. Spike’s feelings for Xander didn’t really surprise Spike. He’d never been able to go very long without losing his heart to someone, even after that heart stopped beating. And Xander had become a fine man—handsome and strong and talented in bed.

Spike stuck the chicken in the oven and washed up. Then he rooted around in the fridge, dredging up vegetables for a salad.

He knew this…contentment…wouldn’t last. Xander would find someone better for him than a pathetic vampire. Maybe that Lindsey bloke. Or, worse, Wolfram &amp; Hart would suck him into its evil core entirely, and the Xander he loved would be lost. Or…oh, so many possibilities, none of them good.

Or Spike would bugger it up. He was trying hard not to. But without the drugs, slavery was nearly unbearable, even such a comfortable, compassionate servitude as Xander afforded him. He was a demon. He needed to hunt, to fight, to kill. Video games were no substitute for the real thing. And with the drugs, he was a pitiable shadow of himself.

Spike sighed and sprinkled a little feta cheese over the top of the salad, just as Xander liked it. He stuck a bottle of wine in the fridge to chill for a bit, then headed for the bath. If Xander was home on time today, Spike had just enough time to get himself sparkly clean and ready.

 

3.

“Lunch?”

Fuck.

“No, sorry. I need to get this done.”

Lindsey parked his ass on the corner of Xander’s desk, and Xander desperately wished he didn’t know perfectly well what a fine ass it was. “You need to eat, Xan.”

Xander gestured vaguely at the small fridge in the corner of his office. “I’ve got a sandwich or something in there. Don’t worry. I won’t waste away to nothing.”

“You’re a dedicated man, Xander.”

Xander tried very hard to maintain. Lindsey had been weird ever since London. Xander had tried to make it clear to the man that the thing between them was…just a thing. A result of too much alcohol and too few brain cells. Nothing Xander was interested in repeating, so could Lindsey please lay off, thank you very much.

But Lindsey wouldn’t lay off, and, although he hadn’t gone so far as to threaten Xander, it was clear that he intended another round. He kept inviting Xander to lunches and dinners and parties. Xander was legitimately overwhelmed with the project, but he couldn’t turn down his boss forever.

Lindsey picked up a stack of papers from the corner of Xander’s desk and flipped idly through them. “You know,” he said, “it occurs to me that I’ve never showed you my vampire.”

Xander had forgotten that Lindsey even owned one, actually.

“C’mere and take a look. You’re gonna like this one.”

Crap. But maybe this would get the lawyer off his back a while. “Okay. But then I really need to work, okay?”

Lindsey crooked a smile at him. “Sure thing, bro.”

He followed Lindsey down the hall and then Lindsey shut the door to his office behind them. This made Xander nervous, especially since there was no vampire in sight. But then Lindsey walked to a small door set into one wall and pushed a button. A few moments later the door slid open, and that’s when Xander realized that there was a sort of small elevator inside.

Inside the elevator was a small cage. And jammed into the cage, huddled into a tight ball, was a vampire.

Lindsey slammed his palm into the bars and the vampire flinched slightly.

“Like this setup? When I don’t want it, it’s stored down in the basement. And when I do, just a press of a button is all it takes.”

Xander suppressed a shudder. “That’s, uh, that’s great.”

He couldn’t see much of the vampire. He was big, tall and muscular. He had a tattoo on one shoulder, and Xander was about to lean in for a closer look when Lindsey unlocked the cage. He grabbed the vampire by the ring on his collar and dragged him out. The vampire was on all fours, his body trembling slightly, and his head was covered by one of those goddamn hoods.

“Like it?” Lindsey asked, running a hand possessively over the vampire’s spine and down his rump. The vampire had what looked to be a very large plug stuck in his ass and secured by a thin metal harness. The harness also held a cage over his big, soft dick.

“Um, yeah, Linds. Really nice.”

“I’ve had it for years. It’s kinda special to me, like yours is to you.”

Years. How much of that time had the poor creature spent crammed into that tiny cage, most of his sensory information taken away?

“You knew your vamp, didn’t you Xander? Back in Sunnydale.”

Damnit. How did Lindsey find that out? Riley Finn, maybe. Or maybe he’d accessed Spike’s records from Walker &amp; Sons. Well, no point lying about it, was there?

“Yeah. He tried to kill me a few times.”

Lindsey laughed and slapped his vampire’s ass. “So it’s pretty satisfying to own it, isn’t it? Fuck it when you feel like? Remind it what a piece of shit it really is?” He hit the vampire again, really hard, and the vampire flinched.

Xander didn’t answer.

“See, I know how it is, ‘cause this fucker tried to do me in, too. And our firm had a special interest in it. So when it was rounded up like the rest of the scum, we made sure we acquired it. And then Holland let me have it, ‘cause he was particularly pleased with me.

“But you wanna know somethin’ else, Xan? I think you know this vamp, too.”

Xander looked at the slave, processed what he was seeing on his shoulder, and his heart skipped a beat. Oh, no. It wasn’t. Couldn’t be.

But Lindsey tapped his ass four times, and the vampire rose into a Kneel. The lawyer took a small key from his pocket and unlocked the hood from the vampire’s collar. The vampire stayed very still and Lindsey roughly pulled the hood away.

Fuck.

His dark hair was shaved into a very short brush cut, but there was no question about his identity. His eyes were screwed closed against the glare of the office lights, and a large round gag was jammed in his mouth. He was inhaling deeply through his nose, obviously eager to breathe while he could.

Lindsey was smiling smugly at Xander. “See?”

Xander nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d end up very much regretting whatever he said.

Lindsey positioned himself behind Angel, standing between his legs and very close so that the back of Angel’s head was touching Lindsey’s abdomen. Lindsey rested one of his hands on the top of Angel’s skull and the other on a broad, bare shoulder. Xander could see how tense the vampire’s muscles were. His eyes were still closed and his head was deeply bowed.

“It wasn’t your favorite vamp, either, was it? Tried to kill you and your gang, too. Nailed that sweet little blonde friend of yours. Right, Xander?”

Angel’s head snapped up. His eyes were very wide as he stared at Xander. They were clear, also, and Xander realized that Angel wasn’t drugged. Lindsey hadn’t granted him the mercy of the small bit of oblivion that the synthblood allowed, so whatever had been happening to him here, Angel was fully aware of it. Jesus Christ.

Besides the shocked knowledge of who was standing before him, there was something else in Angel’s eyes, too. Something Xander had never seen there before. Fear. Angel was afraid of him.

Lindsey petted Angel’s bristly scalp. “It looks good like this, don’t it?”

Xander tried with some success to keep his voice even. “What are you doing, Lindsey?”

“Told ya. Showin’ you my toy. Thought you’d be pleased.”

Lindsey’s right hand dropped from Angel’s shoulder and slid down his smooth chest. He grasped a brown nipple between his thumb and index finger, pinching hard. Angel didn’t react at all; his gaze was still riveted on Xander.

“Ya know, Xan, I’m willin’ to share. The two of us could have a lot of fun with it.” He pinched again, and this time Angel winced slightly. “It knows all sorts of tricks. Know what else? I had it Super-Enhanced a couple years ago. It was one of the first vamps to get the upgrade. Yours has it, too, doesn’t it?”

Xander set his jaw and nodded.

“So I can give it a shot of Toyboost, and in a couple hours it’ll be wiggling its fat ass like a two-bit whore and begging like a slut. Whatta ya think?”

“Lindsey…I…I told you. I have a lot of work to do. I don’t have time.”

The lawyer stepped away from Angel and closer to Xander. He put his hand on Xander’s shoulder. “C’mon, man. This is your boss speakin’. You need a break.”

Xander shook him off and stepped back. “What the hell do you want with me? I know I’m not that irresistible, but you’ve been after me since we met. What is it?”

Lindsey smiled. “I just want to make you happy, Xan. You know how important you are to the firm.”

“So you’re whoring yourself out?”

If Xander expected Lindsey to be offended at this, he was disappointed, because the man only laughed. “Xander, all lawyers are whores. It don’t matter to me whether I’m rentin’ out my brain or my mouth or my ass. Wolfram &amp; Hart owns ‘em all anyway. Only difference between me and that sack of shit”—he pointed at Angel, who was watching and listening intently—“only difference is that I sold myself willingly.”

Xander felt ill. “For what, Lindsey?”

“My heart’s desire, of course.”

Xander shook his head.

“Oh, don’t look so glum, boy. You’re gonna do it, too. There’s gonna be somethin’, and you’re gonna be willin’ to sign yourself away to get it.”

Xander shook again. There wasn’t anything in this world that mattered that much to him. Wasn’t anything that mattered at all, really, except—

Lindsey walked back over to Angel and held the hood in front of his face. Angel made a choking, moaning sound and forcefully shook his head.

“Lindsey, don’t!”

“Why, changed your mind? You do wanna play with it?”

“Lindsey…. Fuck. Look, I don’t want to have sex with you. I didn’t mean to that time, and it was fun, but no more. So you can stop with me. And I don’t want to help you torture An—your vampire. I just don’t.”

“What _do_ you want, then?” Lindsey had grabbed the ring in Angel’s collar and was playing with it. Angel was looking warily back and forth between the hood in Lindsey’s other hand and Xander.

“I don’t know, Lindsey. I really don’t. Right now I just want to get my work done and go home and get drunk, okay?”

The lawyer gave him a crooked grin. “Sure, Xan. And when you’ve made up your mind what you’re longin’ for, you let me know, right?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, then. Go back to your blueprints. Think I’m gonna let off a little steam.” He let go of the collar and stepped back, then kicked Angel in the balls. Angel yelped into his gag and hunched over.

Xander swallowed bile and went back to his office.

 

4.

Spike threw himself at Xander, pressing his bare body against Xander’s clothed one and banging his mouth against Xander’s almost hard enough to set off the chip. Xander responded as he usually did nowadays, letting his briefcase fall to the floor with a _thump_ and gathering Spike tightly in his arms.

But when Spike finally pulled away a bit, he saw the strain in Xander’s eyes, the ashen tint of his skin. Xander had been unusually stressed lately, but this was something more.

Spike traced his hand down Xander’s tired face. “Xander? Is something wrong?”

Xander shut his eyes for a minute. “Yeah, it’s…. Let’s sit down, all right?”

Spike felt lightheaded. Nothing good was going to come out of Xander’s mouth. Was he going away for good? Somewhere he couldn’t take Spike?

Xander took Spike’s hand and pulled him to Xander’s favorite chair. He collapsed heavily into it, pulling Spike down into his lap. Spike wrapped his arm around him and nuzzled above his shirt collar, searching for some dregs of comfort before the bad news emerged.

For long moments, Xander said nothing, just leaning his head against Spike’s collar bone and breathing.

“Christ, Spike, what am I gonna do?” he mumbled.

“What is it?” Not that Spike really wanted to know.

“Angel.”

“What?” Spike thought he must have misheard.

Xander said it louder this time. “Angel. The bastard’s got Angel.”

Out of all the things Spike had anticipated Xander saying, this wasn’t even close to being on the list. He just gaped at Xander, dumbfounded. “A-A-Angel? Angelus?”

The last time he’d seen his grandsire was…oh. The bit with the ring. Right before Spike had returned to Sunnydale and got caught by the soldiers. He hadn’t thought much since about what might have happened to Angel. He’d more or less assumed he’d escaped other vampires’ fates because of the ring, or the soul, or the slayer girlfriend. But the ring could be removed, and even with the soul he was still a vampire. And the slayer—hadn’t that Finn arsehole said something about having been married to her?

Xander still had his face buried in Spike’s chest. Spike felt the man’s warm breath puffing against his skin.

“Lindsey dragged me into his office. Said he wanted to show me his pet vampire. So he brings out this cage, and there’s the vamp squashed inside, and goddamnit, it was Angel. Lindsey’s been keeping him in there for years, Spike, in a hood. Just pulls him out now and then to fuck with him.”

Spike felt queasy. He and the pouf had their differences, to say the least. There had been Drusilla, whom Angelus only took from Spike to show he could, and there had been the failed apocalypse, and, oh, the matter with the hot pokers. His grandsire was a cruel, insufferable prick when he was soulless and a broody, insufferable prick when he was souled. But Spike had never particularly wanted to see Angel hurt—hell, he’d had to hire that sick tosser Marcus to do it for him, hadn’t he? Truth was, there was a part of Spike that was devoted to Angel, longed for him. Always had, even if Spike hadn’t admitted it to himself.

“Xander, God….”

“Lindsey had him ‘enhanced,’ Spike, just like they did to you.” Spike shuddered. “And he’s not drugging him, either. Angel’s fully…there, you know? He’s…. Fuck. Fuck!”

“What…what did you do, Xander?”

“Not a goddamn thing. Just stood there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot while Lindsey offered to let me use him. Then I walked away.”

“Xander, you…I….” Spike wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.

“I never liked Angel.” Xander laughed bitterly. “Got him sent to hell, once, actually. But Jesus…. I kind of hated you, too, and look where I am now.” He planted his soft lips against Spike’s sternum and clutched him a bit tighter. Spike liked the feel of Xander’s silky hair on his skin.

One of them was trembling, and Spike wasn’t sure which. He leaned his face in against Xander’s neck again, inhaling deeply.

Xander snuffled against him. “I can’t just…just leave him there like that.”

“Like you couldn’t leave me?”

“I did, though, didn’t I? Twice. And that monster hurt you, and then the slavers…. I’m sorry, Spike. I should have taken you with me the first time. Or the second, when you begged….”

“You couldn’t. Vampires are illegal where you lived.”

“So I could have moved. I should have…. Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Xander was holding Spike so hard he could scarcely breathe. But he didn’t really need to anyway.

“Xander…Angel. What will you do? Can you, can you buy him?”

“I don’t think Lindsey would give him up. He has some sort of special vendetta against him. He says Angel tried to kill him. And he knows that I knew Angel, back in Sunnydale. He knows I knew you, too.”

Spike stuck his tongue out and licked underneath Xander’s jaw, causing Xander to shiver. For the millionth time, Spike wished he could sink his fangs in. Just a little. Just enough to taste, to _feel_ Xander.

“You and Angel, you didn’t get along, did you?”

“Angel…Angel despised me, Xander. Thought I was stupid and evil. I s’pose I am. But—“

“You’re not, you know. Either.”

Spike licked him again. “Only not evil because I can’t be any more.”

“What would you do if the chip stopped working right now? Rip my throat out?”

“No. I’d bite you”—and he nipped very, very lightly with his blunt teeth on the thin skin of Xander’s neck—“but nicely. There’s some others I’d kill, though.”

“The way you’ve been treated, I wouldn’t blame you. Wanting vengeance, that’s not evil. That’s…human, really.”

This wasn’t the reaction Spike had expected. He’d thought Xander might be angry or disgusted.

“And as for biting nicely, is it nice, Spike? You seem to like it when I bite you.”

Spike’s cock, which had been at least half-hard since Xander came home, despite the news about Angel, filled completely at this thought.

“I do. You would, too. Hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

They both sighed wistfully.

“You were saying about you and Angel….”

“He never thought much of me. Angelus, though…he thought I was stupid and not evil enough.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve met Angelus, remember. He’s a real piece of work.”

“I loved him, once.” He said this very quietly.

“Angelus?”

“He was…. I looked up to him. Idolized him, nearly. He was my mentor. An older brother, like. An older brother who fucked me.”

Xander’s eyebrows flew up. “You and Angel—“

“Never me and Angel. Was always Angelus. It’s…vampires, love. We’re all about blood and shagging and power. We were, anyway. Now….” He buried his head against Xander’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do, Spike.”

“Can you dust him?” Spike whispered. He knew his grandsire—souled or not—would prefer final death to the kind of existence he had now.

“I can’t even get at him. Lindsey keeps him locked up in the basement at Wolfram &amp; Hart. When he’s not…. Christ. How did we get here, Spike?”

Xander’s hot tears were falling on Spike’s chest, scalding him, and his own cold ones were staining Xander’s jacket. And it wasn’t just about Angel. It was Wolfram &amp; Hart, and all that Xander had lost—or never had to begin with—and all that Spike had endured, and the sick inevitability of loss and pain and anguish.

They rocked together, sobbing in their sorrow and their grief.

 

[Part 9a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/26563.html#cutid1)


	15. February 2016 (part 9a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 9a**_  
**Chapter Title:** February 2016 (part 9a)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

Today's chapter is long and, I hope, exciting. An extra warning: there is a graphically icky bit, but it is very brief.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful banner!

Also thank you to [](http://selana1505.livejournal.com/profile)[**selana1505**](http://selana1505.livejournal.com/)   who helped with my French.

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in three parts**   
**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**  
FEBRUARY 2016**

 

1.

“Where the fuck is he?”

Lindsey looked up at him, his blue eyes wide. “Calm down, Xan! I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”

Xander leaned in closer, only the breadth of Lindsey’s desk keeping him from wrapping his hands around that thick neck, or planting his fists in that arrogant face. “You can’t pull off innocent, you son of a bitch. Tell me what you did with him!”

Lindsey looked blankly at him, and that was too much for Xander. He stepped around the desk and the lawyer leapt out of his chair, backing away. A moment later, Lindsey’s back was against his bookcase, his hands held at chest-height, palm outwards. Xander was inches away, his fists tightly clenched.

“Look, Xan, you don’t wanna do anythin’ you’re gonna regret here.”

Xander almost laughed at that. “Don’t want to do anything I’m going to regret. That’s great, Linds. Classic. Like I don’t already regret just about everything I’ve ever done in my whole fucking life!”

Lindsey winced as Xander grabbed his expensive shirt.

The lawyer was muscular, but Xander was slightly bulkier and several inches taller. He could probably pound him to a pulp. And he was going to, if he didn’t get an answer now.

“Where, Lindsey?”

Lindsey looked him in the eyes and smiled.

“Your heart’s desire.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your heart’s desire. We found it. And it’s a goddamn vampire.” He laughed.

“He’s mine. He’s not the apartment or the car or anything else you’ve given me. He belongs to me. Give him back!” Xander knew his face was probably bright red.

“Don’t worry, Xander. We got your property somewhere safe. Maybe not so comfortable, but safe.”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“That won’t get you your vamp back, Xan. Won’t solve none of my problems, either.” He looked down at Xander’s hands, which were still clamped onto his shirtfront. “Let’s talk about this calmly, man.”

Violence might have made Xander feel better, but he realized it wasn’t likely to get him the information he needed. With a greater strength of will than he’d known he possessed, Xander took calming breaths and drew his hands away. Despite his bravado, Lindsey couldn’t help a small sound of relief. Then the lawyer gestured toward his desk.

Xander stalked over and threw himself into the guest chair while Lindsey sank into his own.

“It’s like this. You’ve been great so far, Xan. Been here a year, and you’ve accomplished a lot. Holland’s happy with you. Hell, word is the senior partners are happy with you.”

Xander scowled. He didn’t give a shit what any of them thought about him right now.

“So you’re doin’ great, but now we need more. You’ve always known this, haven’t you? That we’d need more?”

Xander didn’t answer, in part because Lindsey was right.

“The firm needs a bigger commitment from you, Xander. Somethin’ more…permanent.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Lindsey reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “This. It’s a contract. An employment contract.”

“I signed one of those a year ago.”

“You signed a contract, Xander, but not this one. This one, you sign in blood.”

A shiver ran down Xander’s back.

“You sign this, and you’re a Wolfram &amp; Hart employee forever, Xander. Always one of us. Even after you die.”

Xander startled a little. Even his entire lifetime wasn’t going to be enough for them? “You expect me to sell my soul?”

“Somethin’ like that. C’mon. You weren’t really usin’ it anyway, were you?”

Xander narrowed his eyes and looked away.

“Xan, the vampire, that was just incentive for you to listen. If you sign this contract, you get as much as you give. Everythin’ so far—the money, the parties with movie stars, all that—that’s just window dressin’. Wolfram &amp; Hart can give you things you’ve never even dreamed of. That potential we were talkin’ about last year? We’re more convinced than ever that you got it. We can help you achieve it, Xander.”

Xander knew a sales talk when he heard one. He also knew he had very few options.

“What if I refuse?” His voice was hardly more than a growl.

“Then you’re a fool. Your vamp’s gone for good, and you really don’t wanna know what some of the boys here like to do with pretty little demons. And you…well, the firm takes that non-compete clause seriously. Very seriously.”

Xander didn’t particularly fear death, he really didn’t. He’d been so close to it for so much of his life, it was almost like an old friend. But the thought of leaving Spike…wherever he was…made him ill. And then there was Angel.

But…fuck. His soul. Becoming one of them—forever. Worse than a demon. A demon had no choice, really, but to be what it was. But a human did.

“Why are you doing this to me? Why me? The fucking prophecy?”

“Yeah, that’s part of it. But honestly? I think the senior partners’d be interested in you even without it.”

Xander’s heart felt heavy, as if it were encased in iron chains.

“Give me the fucking contract. I’ll…look it over.”

Lindsey grinned and handed him the papers as Xander stood. “You’re makin’ the right decision, Xan.”

“Fuck you.”

Lindsey only smirked.

Xander walked to the door, but, as his hand was on the knob, he turned. “You signed this contract, didn’t you?”

“Of course. Years ago.”

“Got your heart’s desire.”

“Yeah.”

“Was it worth it, Lindsey?”

Lindsey opened his mouth, and then shut it. A moment later, the grin was back on his face. But Xander knew the truth. He’d seen the shadow that passed over the lawyer’s eyes.

 

2.

His apartment was just as he’d found it when he’d returned home from work.

Empty.

He’d known something was wrong right away, when Spike wasn’t there to greet him at the door. Spike always heard him coming and pounced on him as soon as he entered, a bit like an overeager puppy. An incredibly sexy overeager puppy with creamy bare skin and a hard…okay, that analogy had to go.

This evening, there had been nobody at the door. The apartment was silent, too. No Buzzcocks or Sex Pistols blaring from the sound system, no dying zombie noises from the Wii. And there was no smell of food cooking. Lately, Xander had taken to calling the apartment and leaving a message on the answering machine shortly before he headed home. Spike couldn’t answer the phone—wouldn’t do to have a vampire pick up if it wasn’t Xander calling—but he could hear the message, and it gave him time to get dinner going. Or to skip making it, if Xander felt like eating out.

Xander had run around the place, looking in the bedrooms and bathrooms, calling Spike’s name, but of course there was no sign of him.

However, one of Spike’s books was on the floor of the living room, its spine cracked and many of the pages torn. On the carpet next to the couch was a mug lying on its side, a large rust-brown stain beneath it. The answering machine was blinking, and when he pressed the button he heard his own voice telling Spike he was on his way. And Spike’s leash, which he kept on a hook next to the door, was missing.

Xander had pulled out his electronic assistant and punched the code into it that was supposed to allow him to track Spike. But even though he tried it five or six times, each time it gave him an error message.

Xander had stumbled to a chair and collapsed onto it, his head in his hands.

Obviously, Spike had been taken. But by whom?

And the answer had come to him soon enough.

Vampires were rarely stolen because they could so easily be tracked by their owners. Unless their chips were rekeyed, that is. And only the slaving companies were supposed to have the software and the hardware to do that. But Walker &amp; Sons was a client of Wolfram &amp; Hart’s, wasn’t it?

And Xander also realized that the door had been locked when he came home. Not only was there no sign of forced entry, but the deadbolt had been locked, and that could only be done from the inside, or from the outside with a key. So whomever had taken Spike had had a key to this apartment. Wolfram &amp; Hart’s apartment, of course.

And really, who knew, or gave a shit, that Xander owned Spike? Lindsey, who had admired Spike, and who probably had more than an inkling that Xander valued him.

So Xander had run back out to his car and had pushed the Porsche’s speed and handling to their limits, racing back to work. Where he found Lindsey still in his office, and where that entirely unsatisfying and unsettling confrontation had taken place.

And now here he was again, home, still alone, only now with the contract weighing him down like a ball and chain.

Wearily, he collapsed into a chair, trying not to see the small signs of Spike that had been left behind. Trying not to think about what might be happening to his vampire right this minute. Trying not to imagine what he would become if he signed the contract.

 

3.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Spike pressed his face to the floor, clasped his hands behind his back, and spread his knees wide. His sore arse was high in the air. He could feel fluids dripping down the insides of his thighs.

He was nearly knocked over a moment later, when something that felt like a wooden paddle smacked into him, hard. He hadn’t heard it coming. Couldn’t hear anything. Or see. Or smell. Or sodding breathe, because the hood, the bloody awful hood was on his head.

Whack!

That one hit his hanging bollocks, and if he had any air in his lungs, he would have screamed. As it was, his legs shook as he struggled to maintain position.

Whack! Whack!

One on each stinging cheek.

Whack!

Another one between his legs, and he could feel the tears welling under the latex that covered his face.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

A whole volley of them, coming so fast that it almost seemed like there must be more than one instrument hitting him.

Whack!

Centered on his torn, exposed hole.

Whack!!!

Against his bollocks again, so hard he nearly passed out.

And then it stopped.

For a very long time, nothing happened at all. Spike’s muscles cramped—it had been nearly a year since he’d had to stay like this for hours and hours on end. Spike would almost rather be beaten, because the pain now wasn’t enough to keep his mind from wandering.

From remembering what had happened.

He’d been relaxing on the couch, reading _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ and having a snack when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He didn’t pay them much mind. They weren’t Xander’s, and it was much too early for him to be home anyway.

Then the locks had turned and Spike had frozen in fear and confusion.

The door had slammed open and three men had entered as if they owned the place. They were all big blokes dressed in suits and ties. Spike saw the chains and such that one of them had draped in his arms and knew what was coming. But still he didn’t move. After all, where could he go? There was no other exit from the flat except the windows, and it was broad daylight outside. Besides, even if he had some way to get safely away, they’d easily track him. All it took was the right code and an electronic assistant.

“Well, that was easy,” said the one in the blue shirt, leering at Spike.

“What the fuck is it doing on the _furniture_?” The one with the chains grimaced, as if the sight of a vampire on a sofa made him ill.

They all stomped closer to him and he dropped his book and cowered against the armrest, desperately looking around them for Xander to magically appear. Of course, he didn’t.

Blue shirt picked up the book, glanced at it, and then tore out handfuls of pages. Then he scowled at the half-full mug that sat on the end table, and swept it onto the floor. “Looks like this monster needs to be retaught its proper place,” he said.

The third one, who had a bald, shiny scalp and a nose that looked to have been broken more than once, barked “Kneel!”

Spike scrambled off the sofa and Knelt on the carpet. He was shaking uncontrollably, not only from panic, but also from the effort to not attack these intruders. Then one of the men—he wasn’t sure which one, since his head was meekly bowed—kicked him in the groin and he yelped and collapsed into a ball. The men kicked at him a few more times, then cuffed his hands behind his back and locked a set of hobbles onto his ankles.

He was panting rapidly now, his mind swimming with terror. But it was the bald bloke’s next words that made his dead heart shatter: “Yeah, it may be pretty, but I can see why its owner doesn’t want it any more. Weak and disobedient—that’s not a nice combination at all for a slave.”

The bloke with the chains had held out a hood, and Spike had pleaded, “No, please, don’t, please!” But blue shirt had merely kicked him again.

After that, they’d pulled the hood over his head and clipped a leash onto his collar. They yanked him to his feet and he stumbled after them, hopelessly replaying the bald man’s last two sentences in his head.

He’d been led to a vehicle of some kind and his collar had been attached to a hook inside. They’d driven for a brief time, and then he was dragged out again, and led into a lift, which descended.

He was bent face down over some kind of bar, his collar attached to something on the ground in such a way that his head hung very low. The hobbles were removed and his ankles spread and affixed to the floor. And then, with no preparation at all, someone had rammed his cock into Spike’s hole. The man slammed into him again and again, his bollocks swinging against Spike’s arse, and then the man’s cock had pulsed inside him. When the man pulled out a moment later, Spike had felt come and blood trickling out of him.

Almost immediately after, he’d been penetrated again. And again. And then he’d lost count. He didn’t know if this was the same men who’d taken him or others, and it didn’t particularly matter anyway.

Eventually he was unchained and he’d collapsed to the cement floor. He was kicked and dragged for several yards, and that’s when they’d put him in Present and began beating him.

He was exhausted now and cold. But more chilling than the air or the frigid floor was the memory of the bald man’s words. Were they true? Had Xander decided to get rid of him? He certainly hadn’t given any indication that he might be considering it. In fact, he’d been gentle and affectionate and, well, almost loving toward Spike lately. Genuinely seemed to be enjoying his company. Not just when they were shagging, but also when they were watching the telly or playing video games or taking long walks or just entwined quietly together in bed.

But that place Xander was working, there was something wrong with it. Something wrong with what it did to him. Perhaps he had changed his mind for some reason, suddenly deciding Spike was a nuisance or a liability. If not, how could these men have taken him? They must have known Xander would be able to find him easily with the tracking code.

Spike didn’t know where he was or what these people had in mind for him. Didn’t really care, because he’d lost his only hope, his salvation. His love.

 

4.

It was just paper.

Just a stack of paper full of legal terms he didn’t understand, and he was sure they were carefully written in such a way as to screw him over permanently, and without loopholes, because the people who’d written them were evil fucking lawyers.

It wasn’t really selling his soul, he thought. After all, he still got to use it, what there was of it. It was more like a mortgage. A mortgage he’d never pay off, even when he died.

Xander sat at his dining room table—strike that, Wolfram &amp; Hart’s dining room table—and stared at the contract. He’d been staring at it, off and on, for the better part of a week. He hadn’t gone in to work. He hadn’t gone anywhere. He’d barely moved off this chair, except to drag himself to his empty bed for a few hours at a time.

The phone had rung a couple of times, but Xander didn’t answer it. It had to be Lindsey. Nobody else ever called. He didn’t want to hear those smooth, honeyed words now.

It was so quiet in the apartment. The refrigerator was making a little humming sound, and that was it. He’d become used to Spike’s company. Even during those months when Xander had been treating him like shit and Spike had been trying to be unobtrusive, he had had a large presence. He might not be very big, but he had a way of…filling up a room.

Damnit! Xander hadn’t asked for this! Hadn’t asked to be saddled with responsibility for a fucking vampire, the same vampire who’d tried to kill him and his friends more than once. All he’d done was go to a meeting in LA, a meeting he wouldn’t have attended if it weren’t for Franklin and her maternity leave. He hadn’t even wanted a room with, had he? If there had been an empty without room that night—one that wasn’t a five hundred dollar a night suite—he’d have just gone about his life, never knowing what happened to Spike, possibly never thinking about him again.

Just gone about his life. His pathetic, lonely, empty life.

Shit.

He didn’t have to pick up the phone a year ago and accept Lindsey’s job offer. He could have stayed in Kansas City, a valued employee of L&amp;T who never had to think about prophecies or portals, who never was asked to sign anything in blood. Then he never would have learned about Angel, either.

Who said he was the vampire savior? He _hated_ vampires.

He could just say no.

He could throw a few things in a suitcase, withdraw his savings from the bank, and spend the rest of his life just lying low somewhere. Maybe Wolfram &amp; Hart wouldn’t bother to look for him. Maybe he could stay below their radar. Maybe he could even live with himself, knowing he’d abandoned Spike, left him to an existence of suffering and despair.

He was just a vampire.

He’d murdered thousands of people, probably.

He was just a pretty face and a sexy body.

He was just a good fuck.

He was just a slave.

He was just….

His heart’s desire.

 

5.

Only minutes after the feeding, Spike knew they’d given him more than synthblood. Sure, he could feel that chemical shite sitting heavy in his stomach like mercury, and he could sense the drugs already rubbing away at his brain, smoothing the edges so that soon nothing would remain except a dumb, compliant beast. But there was also a tingling low in his belly, and he knew that soon that tingling would intensify to a maddening itch, and then the itch would transform into a raging fire. Already his cock was beginning to fill, his bollocks were growing heavy.

They’d put him in a Stand to feed him. Now a leash was clipped onto the ring in the crown of his cock. The ring he’d stopped hating because Xander liked it, liked to play with it in slightly wicked and always pleasing ways. Spike’s hands were cuffed behind his back and he was dragged roughly across the cold floor.

He was still hooded, so he had no warning when the person at the end of the leash would change his speed or direction. Whoever it was kept yanking fiercely at Spike, the ring pulling painfully inside Spike’s now fully erect cock.

They walked for a while, turning this way and that. Then they stood in a lift. It rose, and soon Spike was being pulled out of it. More walking and turning.

Finally, they stopped. He was pulled up two or three steps. Spike’s hands were uncuffed and raised over his head until he was on the tips of his toes and his arms were stretched painfully, and then his wrists were chained in place. Someone kicked his legs apart, and that left him actually hanging. His legs were spread very wide and chained tightly. The leash was removed. Someone slapped his arse.

And then nothing.

As he knew it would, the need in his loins became increasingly demanding. Soon he was moving the only way he could, swaying slightly in his bonds as he swung his hips forward and back, helplessly bucking into thin air.

An eternity later, a large, warm hand traced down his side and flank. He immediately began moving faster, trying in vain to squirm around so that the hand would be on his front instead. But the hand moved away, returning a moment later to pinch his left nipple, and then going away again.

And then his legs were freed. He scrambled to get his feet under him as someone released his arms as well. As soon as his hands were free he grabbed for his throbbing cock, knowing it was forbidden but completely unable to stop himself. It didn’t matter anyway, because his hands were forced behind his back and into cuffs again.

Oh, Christ, the hood was coming off. Despite everything else, he nearly sagged in relief. As soon as his mouth was free, he drew in a huge breath of air, his dead lungs inflating. He didn’t have to breathe, of course, but it was so much more comfortable when he could. As his mouth was still open, however, a long, wide object was thrust deeply inside and buckled tightly in place around his head. Automatically he struggled for breath, but then his nose was freed from the latex and he could pull in more oxygen.

With a hard jerk, the hood was removed the rest of the way.

Although the sudden light hurt, his eyes grew large as he saw where he was, and his knees nearly gave out.

He was standing on a platform, a sort of small stage. All around the platform were humans, scores of them. A few demons, too. They were all dressed in evening clothes and seated around circular tables in groups of six. They were drinking wine and liquor and looking at him and laughing and talking to each other.

The room was large, with red carpeting on the floor and a several large crystal chandeliers. Chains dangled from the ceiling over his head, and there were more lengths of iron coiled on the stage near his feet. Another platform, like his but empty, was fifteen feet away.

A man was standing next to him on the platform. Spike recognized the bloke—it was blue shirt. Now, though, he was wearing a white shirt and a black suit, and he was holding a riding crop in one hand and the hood in the other. He dropped the hood on the floor and smiled broadly at Spike. Spike looked down, and that’s when he saw the other object on the stage.

Oh, no.

It was a statue, of sorts. Roughly two feet high and four or five inches wide at the top, it appeared to be made of polished black stone. It was quite detailed and anatomically correct, if physically impossible: a giant cock with two huge round balls at its base. It glistened slickly, as if it had been coated with oil.

The man snapped the crop against Spike’s arse, making him jump, and then pushed him between his shoulder blades until he was standing inches away from the sculpture. Then the man pushed a bit more, causing Spike to stand over the thing, straddling it.

The audience looked at him as waiters wandered amongst the tables, delivering plates of chicken and beef and salmon. It smelled good. Xander used to let him eat human food when he wanted to. He wondered if he would ever taste it again.

Slap! The crop whipped against his weeping cock and he yelped into the gag and doubled over. Some of the humans chuckled.

Warily, Spike straightened again. The man held the crop a few inches in front of Spike’s hips and he couldn’t help himself. The audience snickered again as he arched forward, trying unsuccessfully to rub against the leather-covered cane. The man smirked at him, then stepped away. He fastened chains to Spike’s ankles again. These had a few inches of give, but not enough that he could move away from the statue.

The man stepped down from the platform and walked across the room, exiting out a side door. Spike was left alone, and now most of the humans were eating their meals and ignoring him.

With a start, he realized he recognized some of these people. There was that tall bint, the one who’d flown to London with them. And at that table over there—Jesus, that was Xander’s boss, Lindsey. The bloke Xander had shagged. Lindsey was looking straight at Spike, and, judging by the expression on his face, was enjoying the expression of surprised dismay on Spike’s.

Had Xander given him to Lindsey? Or to Wolfram &amp; Hart?

Spike craned his head around, not sure whether he was hoping to see Xander or hoping not to. In either case, there was no sign of him. But at a table to Spike’s right were more familiar faces. Riley bloody Finn. And he was talking to that fat French bloke, the one who had ogled him in London. Spike remembered the conversation the frog and the lawyer had had. Xander had been oblivious, but Spike understood French very well, and he shivered now as he recalled the things the Frenchman had told Lindsey he would like to do to Spike. The man looked up at Spike and licked his rubbery lips.

A movement from the side door caught Spike’s eye. Two men were wheeling in a small cart, on top of which was another figure just like the one between Spike’s legs. With a grunt, they lifted it off the table and hauled it onto the other platform. One of the men bent down and fastened the thing to the stage with some large bolts in its base, then the other man upended a small jar of something liquid over the top of it. The liquid oozed thickly down the shaft.

The men pulled the empty cart back through the door.

A moment later, the man with the crop re-appeared. He was leading a slave by a leash hooked to a ring in his red, erect cock. The vampire was hooded, but Spike didn’t need to see his face. Spike’s knees shook and he nearly fell.

Angel.

A small corner of his mind had held out some hope that Xander had traded him for his grandsire, that while Spike was destined to miserable bondage, at least perhaps Angel would have some comfort. He blinked back tears and found himself nearly as hungry for the touch of those once-familiar hands as he was for relief from the pulsing itch in his groin.

The man jerked so hard on the leash that Angel stumbled and almost fell, and then he led the vampire up onto the other platform. He pushed at him until, like Spike, he was straddling the monstrous phallus, and then chained Angel’s ankles as he’d chained Spike’s.

As soon as Angel was in place, the man cuffed his hands behind him, removed the leash, and then snapped the crop against his swollen bollocks. Angel’s chest convulsed in what Spike knew was an airless attempt to scream, and he bent at the waist. The man stepped around him and struck instead at his arse, then again at the back of his hanging scrotum. The room echoed with the humans’ amusement at the vampire’s vain attempts to avoid the pain.

Finally, the man tucked the crop under his arm and pulled an object out of his breast pocket. It was a dildo attached to some straps. He pulled the mask up a bit, and as soon as Angel opened his mouth to take a whooping breath, the man shoved the dildo between his jaws. Angel barely struggled as the man buckled the gag around Angel’s face. Then the man peeled the latex up a bit more, so Angel could breathe once more. Before he took it off entirely, though, he spent a moment or two teasing the vampire, holding a hand close enough to Angel’s engorged cock for Angel to feel the warmth, and then moving it away as Angel bucked his pelvis forward.

Spike barely noticed his own body, rocking helplessly back and forth as he watched.

The man at last removed Angel’s hood and tossed it aside. Angel’s eyes were screwed shut against the light. His head was shorn, and for some reason that caused an especially sharp pang of sorrow in Spike’s chest. The pouf was always so vain over his sodding hair.

When Angel finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw as Spike.

He blinked several times, as if he wasn’t certain he was seeing clearly, then made a loud moaning noise into his gag. Spike could only look at him, trying to convey a century worth of regret with his eyes. Angel closed his eyes for a long time and swallowed loud enough that Spike could hear it over the din of the room. When his lids opened again, his deep brown eyes were glittering.

For a moment, Spike had almost forgotten about the humans in the room. But then Lindsey suddenly appeared in front of Angel’s platform. Angel flinched at the sight of him. Lindsey’s back was to Spike so Spike couldn’t see his face, but he heard the man when he quietly said, “Fuck yourself, slut.”

Angel looked down at the grotesque pillar of stone between his legs and shook his head.

“You know you want it, cunt.” Lindsey’s quiet, calm tone didn’t change. “Or maybe it’s not big enough for you. I can get you a fatter one, you know. Stuff that greedy little hole of yours right up.”

Angel took a deep breath and then dropped slowly to his knees. Very carefully, he centered himself over the massive dildo, and pressed it between his legs. With his eyes closed in pain and concentration, he sank onto it. Spike could smell his grandsire’s blood as his delicate tissues were torn, and Spike’s own cock twitched, releasing a thick dollop of precome.

The lawyer leaned in very close, resting his forearms on the stage. “Move your fat ass. I wanna see you put on a good show, or you’ll be sorry.”

Angel watched Spike as he began to raise and lower himself on the stone shaft. He winced with each movement, and yet his angry-looking cock bobbed and leaked, as needy as ever. The audience clapped. Lindsey went back to his table.

Waiters moved around the room, picking up empty dinner dishes and whisking them away. As they returned with plates full of dessert, and more bottles of wine, the man with the crop sauntered over and stood in front of Spike. He touched the tip of the crop to the juncture of Spike’s legs, just behind his scrotum.

“You, too, bitch,” he said.

Spike didn’t bother to resist. What was the point?

He copied Angel’s motions, and the statue ripped and ruptured the skin and muscles of his sphincter. It hurt like bloody hell and he groaned loudly, but at the same time it filled him as his body demanded to be filled, and the human didn’t have to order him to start lifting and dropping himself.

There was more clapping.

Spike and Angel locked their eyes on each other as they rode the statues, their movements synchronized with each other. They even panted through their nostrils in unison. Each had a steady stream of liquid beading on the tip of his cock and then dripping down.

As the humans finished their dinners and then gradually got up to mill around the room, the drugs took deeper hold in Spike’s system. Crowds formed around each of the platforms, the people drinking and chatting and watching with gleaming eyes. Spike fucked himself faster, harder, deeper, his body demanding more even as it was rent and damaged. He was making guttural _ungh-ungh_ sounds deep in his throat.

Lindsey wandered over to watch for a while and Spike looked at him imploringly, knowing it would do him no good. Then the lawyer meandered off.

By the time the last of the guests left, Spike’s thighs were burning with pain, too, and there was a large pool of blood, dried and fresh, around his knees. Angel’s face was drawn with distress and the salty remains of tears tracked down his cheeks.

The man who’d taken Spike from Xander’s flat picked up the hood from the floor near Angel. He ascended the platform and, as Angel tried to shake his head, began pulling it onto him. Angel made desperate keening noises as his only contact with Spike—his vision—was taken away, and Spike thrashed frantically.

The man unbuckled the gag and drew it out of Angel’s mouth. Angel had just enough time for a single sound—“Spi--!”—before the man yanked the mask over his mouth.

Couldn’t they have allowed them the small mercy of speech? Just for a moment, even?

The man unchained Angel’s feet and, sticking his hands under the vampire’s arms, pulled him upright, off of the statue. Angel convulsed as he was released from impalement, a large gush of blood falling between his legs. But he could not stand, and as soon as the human released his grip, Angel fell onto his face.

With a heavy sigh, the man uncuffed his wrists and kicked and pulled him onto hands and knees. He latched the leash back on—onto the collar this time—and pulled hard, dragging Angel to the edge of the little stage. The man leapt down and then hauled Angel over the side by his neck. Angel landed heavily and remained very still until the man kicked him some more and began towing him toward the door.

As Angel crawled away, Spike could see his ravaged and gaping hole, his thighs thick with his own blood.

Would he ever see Angel again?

Despite his agony and his terrible grief, Spike was still fucking himself on the giant stone phallus.

 

6.

The slave knew it had a name, once. Knew that there had been others who had cared for it, had touched it with gentle and tender hands, had allowed it the use of all its senses and the freedom to move. It knew this unending, seething fire in its loins had once been an agreeable little tickle that often ended in pleasurable release.

It just couldn’t recall the specifics.

Now it writhed in his chains as thick fingers traced its aching body, stopping now and then to pinch or poke, or to press a nail into a wound.

It wasn’t wearing the usual hood. This human had wanted to see its face, it seemed. So the slave could see the predatory gleam in the Master’s eyes, the leer that raised Master’s fat cheeks and exposed his shining teeth.

And the slave had heard the Master grunting as he used it, smelled his fetid breath as he panted in the slave’s ear.

The slave had a wide ring gag in its mouth, so it could scream when Master whipped it and beat it and buggered it with various objects. It could cry when Master used tools to gouge its flesh away and pierce its body and mangle its limbs. It couldn’t beg, though. Perhaps it couldn’t even have found the words—language was elusive and mostly incomprehensible.

“Ah, mon jouet cassé,” Master said, shaking his head at the mess that had been a vampire. “Tu es si beau comme ça.”

The slave shrieked as Master’s blunt thumb dug into its eye. Master laughed and stood back. “Il me faut me rappeler de ne pas te détruire. Tu n’es pas à moi. Pas encore.”

Ah, the slave recalled what it would say, if it could speak. _Tuez-moi, Maître. Tuez-moi, s’il vous plaît. _

[Part 9b ](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/26632.html#cutid1)


	16. February 2016 (part 9b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 9b**_  
**  
Chapter Title:** February 2016 (part 9b)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

Today's chapter is long and, I hope, exciting. An extra warning: there is a graphically icky bit, but it is very brief.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful banner!

Also thank you to [](http://selana1505.livejournal.com/profile)[**selana1505**](http://selana1505.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   who helped with my French.

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in three parts** **

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
7.

“Here, you motherfucker.”

He slammed the stack of papers down on the desk.

“Made up your mind, darlin’?”

How many times had Xander had to resist the urge to beat this bastard to a pulp?

“You look like shit, Xander. With all those days you took off from work, I figured you’d be getting’ plenty of rest.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lindsey.”

The lawyer grinned at him. “Well?”

“There are conditions.”

Lindsey’s grin widened. “Someone might think you’d been spendin’ time with lawyers, Xan. We’ve taught you well, grasshopper.”

Xander grimaced and collapsed into the chair. He didn’t want to do this. He couldn’t not.

Lindsey leaned back in his own chair and spread his arms wide. “So, what’ll it be? You want more money? Wanna move up from the Porsche? Maybe a Ferrari?”

“Is that all that matters to you, Lindsey? Money and the things it buys?”

“Money can buy some mighty fine things, boy.”

Suddenly, inexplicably, Xander felt sorry for the man. “Does it help? When you’re alone in the dark and you know nobody in the world really gives a shit about you, does all that stuff help?” He really wanted to know. After all, that was him, too.

Lindsey’s smile disappeared. “I’m rarely alone in the dark, Xander,” he growled.

“Yeah, okay. But I bet you’re by yourself again come morning.”

Lindsey narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw, and it sent a small thrill through Xander. It was one of the few times the lawyer had evidenced a real emotion.

“What are the conditions?” His voice was low and gravelly, all the playfulness gone.

“Spike. I want him back. And a guarantee that none of you fuckers ever come near him again.”

“Why a vampire, Xander? You could have your pick of real people.” Another flash of honest feeling on his face, a naked look that for just a moment said _Why not me_? Hmm. Xander had thought that the whole come-on had been part of Lindsey’s act, part of Xander’s enticement to join Wolfram &amp; Hart. But maybe there had been a bit more there than that.

“I don’t know why. I’ve always hated vampires. I’ve…I don’t know. But he’s mine, and I want him back for good.”

“Okay. Done.”

“There’s more.”

Lindsey quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I want Angel, too.”

Lindsey’s mouth gaped wide in shock, then he pressed farther back from his desk and shook his head. “Unh-unh. No way.”

“Then I’m gone.”

“Now, I’m bein’ a nice guy and listenin’ to your terms, and I don’t even mind too much gettin’ you back your slave. But maybe I ain’t made this clear. You ain’t goin’ nowhere. If you leave, we track you down. We can find you anywhere, Xander.”

Now it was Xander’s turn to smile. “Sure. You can do that. But you’re not gonna find the flaws. At least not soon enough to save yourself millions of dollars and months, maybe years of work. Your business partners won’t like that much.”

“Flaws? What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“I went into the building plan files and I deliberately put in a whole shitload of errors. Nothing too obvious, but the building will never come together, and the parts that do go up will fall back down. And I’m guessing you don’t want a collapse on top of your portal.”

“We have backup files, dumbass.”

“Yep. Which I have access to. Changed those, too.”

Lindsey opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You could probably get some people to look the plans over and find the bugs. Should only take them six or seven months. ‘Course, it’d be hard to know when you caught them all, right? Or you can start from scratch. That’d take about a year and, I don’t know, a million or two?”

Lindsey said nothing for a long time, and then a slow smile crept onto his face. “You son of a bitch. The partners were right—you _do_ have potential.”

“Maybe I do.”

“What do you want Angel for anyway? Gonna build a harem of vamps who tried to murder you?”

Xander laughed. “That’d end up being a pretty big harem, actually. No, I’ll stick with just these two.”

Lindsey chewed on his lip and looked out the window. It was cloudy out. Rain was forecasted for this afternoon. He turned his gaze back to Xander. “Okay. You got Angel. Anythin’ else?”

Xander managed to prevent a sigh of relief from escaping him. “A guarantee, in writing. Nobody fucks with my vampires. You leave them alone, and I’ll be your good little company man and I’ll build your fucking gate and you can have whatever soul I have left.”

Lindsey held out his hand. “You got a deal.”

Within an hour, the revised conditions were written up, and Xander read them carefully. He knew this was risky—they were fiendish lawyers and he was only sort of a naughty architect, so far. But he’d made them keep the words simple, and he just had to hope for no undetected loopholes. And really, they’d only taken Spike to get Xander to go along with them anyway. He doubted any of them had that much of an interest in Spike for his own sake. As for Angel, well, maybe they did really have a thing against him. Xander was gambling that the importance the firm seemed to place in Xander outweighed whatever they felt about the vampire.

Lindsey left the office for a few minutes and returned trailing Holland Manners and carrying a small wooden box.

Xander’s stomach clenched sickeningly, but Holland only smiled and shook his hand while clapping him on the back.

“I knew you’d come around, son! I understand you gave my boy Lindsey a hard run, too, didn’t you?”

Xander shrugged slightly.

“Well, good for you! I think the boy gets too complacent sometimes. He could use a good challenge now and then.” Over Holland’s shoulder, Xander saw Lindsey scowl.

Holland turned quickly and looked at Lindsey. “I don’t know, son. Maybe someday it’ll be Xander running this division.” Lindsey’s frown deepened and Xander tried not to look smug. He didn’t even want Lindsey’s job. Hell, he didn’t want his own job.

Holland clapped his hands. “Let’s do this, boys. I have a lunch meeting and then a flight to Cairo.”

Lindsey had placed the box on his desk. It was ornately carved, Xander now saw, with a variety of mysterious symbols. There were three animals, as well: a slavering dog of some kind, a horned sheep, and a deer with spreading antlers. Xander didn’t recognize the variety of wood, which was odd—he was usually pretty good at that.

Lindsey lifted the lid. The inside of the box was lined in plush black velvet. The contents were fitted into small compartments. There was a small, wicked-looking knife, a squat red candle, two wide, green glass jars without lids, and two iridescent bluish feathers.

Now the lawyer spread the last sheet of the contract on the desk in front of the other two men. There were spaces for two signatures.

Holland smiled again and removed the candle from the box. He pulled a gold lighter from his pocket and lit the candle, then set it next to the contract. Next he took the silvery little knife and held its blade to the flame for nearly a minute. When he pulled it away, he sliced it deeply into the heel of his left palm. He placed one of the bottles underneath, allowing his blood to collect inside.

The sight of the blood made Xander suddenly remember the look on Spike’s face the first time he’d given him his blood for Christmas. Jesus, where was Spike now?

But his thoughts were interrupted as Lindsey took the knife from Holland and wiped it with a white cloth that had appeared from somewhere. He handed the knife to Xander and nodded at the candle. So Xander put it in the fire as Lindsey put some ointment and a bandage on Holland’s hand.

When Holland tilted his head at Xander, Xander cut into his own hand and held it over the second jar. A few moments later, he was bandaged up as well and the knife was back in the box.

Holland picked up one of the feathers—quills, Xander supposed—and dipped it in his jar of blood. In a smooth, sweeping movement he wrote his name on one of the two blank lines. His signature was large and fancy.

Xander copied the man, scribbling his own, less ornate name on the other line. He even include his hated middle name.

When he was done, Lindsey held each quill in the flame, and they instantly dissolved into ash, filling the air with the odor of singed feather. He snuffed out the flame with his fingertips and put the candle away. He took the jars to the small sink set into his wall cabinet and rinsed them out, then returned them to the box. He replaced the lid.

Holland held out his undamaged right hand. “So happy to have you with us, son. I know you’ll make me proud.” They shook and Holland left.

Lindsey crooked his mouth at Xander. “Welcome to the team. Wanna go celebrate with a couple drinks?”

“Just get me my vampires, Lindsey. Now.”

 

8.

As Lindsey led him silently down the hall and into the elevator, Xander reflected that he didn’t feel any different, now that he’d officially sold his soul. For two vampires, no less.

He understood that it wasn’t really his soul that Wolfram &amp; Hart owned, at least not in the sense that Angel had one and Spike didn’t. It was more like his essence, his personality. The thing that made him, him. The contract had used a Latin term, _animus_. He was certain Spike still retained at least some of the animus of the man he had been. There was no question he could feel deeply—love, even—in ways that were very human.

And if Spike still had that part of himself, didn’t other vampires?

Xander’s thoughts were interrupted as the elevator stopped at the basement, its destination. The ceiling was low down here, the floor bare cement, the walls plain white-painted drywall. They went down a corridor, and made a few turns. They passed occasional doors, all windowless and made of gray metal, each marked only by a number. Besides their footsteps, the only sound was the distant hum of air conditioning.

Finally, Lindsey stopped in front of one of the doors and punched some numbers into the keypad beside it. He turned the knob and they entered.

Oh, fuck.

It was a torture chamber. No other word for it. Everywhere he looked there were chains, and there were shelves and hooks full of whips and paddles and Christ knew what else. But what really made Xander queasy was the floor, which was gray tile, and had a drain in the center. What needed to be drained away in this room?

There was no sign of Spike. But there were several doors, each locked with a heavy sliding bolt. Lindsey walked to one of them and released the lock. Then he opened the door. Xander crowded next to him in the doorway.

It was a tiny room, smaller than the closet in Xander’s bedroom. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all greenish-painted metal. The room was absolutely bare.

Except for the broken figure huddled in the middle of the floor.

Even Lindsey hissed slightly at Spike’s condition.

Xander turned and, with no warning and with all his strength, swung his fist, connecting loudly with Lindsey’s nose. Lindsey screamed and fell backwards. He clutched his face as blood spurted from between his hands.

But Xander didn’t even notice, because he was already kneeling beside Spike.

Spike appeared to be unconscious. Actually, he appeared to be dead, but since he wasn’t a pile of dust, Xander knew he still…existed. One eye was bruised and swollen shut, and the other—Xander had to fight not to vomit.

Oh, fuck fuck fuck.

Despite the fact that Spike was obviously not going anywhere, he was bound. His wrists were cuffed behind his back, his ankles were attached to a short hobble chain, and a large ring gag was jammed between his torn lips.

Gingerly, Xander rested a hand on Spike’s shoulder. The vampire didn’t respond.

“Unchain him!” Xander growled loudly.

Lindsey appeared in the doorway a moment later. His face and shirt were covered in blood and he was holding a cloth of some kind to his nose. But he had a small key in his hand, and he held it out to Xander. Xander unlocked the fetters and pushed them away. He tossed the key aside as well. Then he unbuckled and removed the gag.

As gently as he could, Xander scooped Spike into his arms. He weighed much less than he should have; clearly, they hadn’t been feeding him well.

Xander glared at Lindsey. “Angel,” he barked.

Lindsey nodded and they went back into the hallway. Just a few yards away, the lawyer stopped and unlocked another door. This one opened directly into that small elevator—more like dumbwaiter, really—that led to Lindsey’s office. Angel was in the cage, and he was hooded and on his knees, locked into a restraint device. A heavy iron bar was locked to his ankles, forcing his legs far apart. His wrists were chained to the bar as well, and his collar was hooked to the bottom of the cage.

Xander didn’t even have to say anything. Lindsey opened the cage, then bent down and released Angel. He tugged on Angel’s thigh and the vampire backed slowly out of the cage. He stopped when he was free; he was on all fours with his covered head hanging low. Xander could see now that his erect cock was locked into a plastic gadget very similar to the one he’d bought for Spike when he’d first brought Spike home with him.

Lindsey leaned into the tiny room and pulled out a leash that was hanging on the wall. He clipped it to Angel’s collar.

Xander’s arms were getting sore. “Let’s go,” he said.

Lindsey led them back to the elevator. Angel crawled along blindly behind him and Xander and Spike made up the tail end of their sad little parade.

The elevator took them to the parking garage, and that’s when Xander realized that there was no way he was going to be able to get both vampires into his Porsche. “You have your SUV?” he asked Lindsey.

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

This year’s monstrosity was as black and enormous as last year’s. Lindsey unlocked it and lifted the tailgate. Xander tenderly slid Spike into the huge cargo area. “I need something to cover them,” he said.

“Windows are necrotinted,” replied Lindsey. Figured.

Xander arranged Spike as comfortably as possible, trying not to see all his wounds and….

Lindsey opened a rear side door and slapped Angel lightly on the ass. Angel stood, and when Lindsey pushed him up against the car, the vampire climbed inside as if he’d done this many times before. He knelt on the floor between the front and back seats, facing toward the rear, his hands clasped behind him and his head deeply bent. Xander considered unmasking him, but he really needed to deal with Spike first; he didn’t have time right now to deal with Angel’s issues as well. Lindsey slammed the door shut.

Xander fished in his pocket and pulled out his keyring, then detached his car key. “Gimme your keys,” he snapped. “You can drive my car over later to pick yours up.”

“Okay,” Lindsey said softly. His nose had stopped bleeding but it was grotesquely swollen, and obviously badly broken. Both of his eyes were starting to puff up, too. He and Xander exchanged keys.

“Is the key to Angel’s hood on here?”

Lindsey nodded.

Xander headed for the driver’s door when he was stopped by a hesitant hand on his shoulder. He turned and glared at the lawyer.

“Xan—I didn’t authorize…that,” he said, waving vaguely at the back of the truck. “It wasn’t supposed to be damaged.”

Xander looked at him for a moment. The bastard actually looked sorry.

“Fuck you,” Xander said, and got into the car.

 

9.

Getting upstairs was a small challenge.

Then he had a moment of inspiration. He guided Angel out first. Lindsey had left the leash dangling from his collar, which made it a little easier. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Angel started to drop onto his knees, but Xander hauled him upright again and then, with his hands on Angel’s broad shoulders, led him to the back of the car. He arranged Angel’s arms at right angles to his body, palms up. Angel stood like a statue.

Xander unlatched the back, relieved not to simply find a small pile of dust. He took Spike into his arms and then carefully transferred him to Angel’s.

Angel was obviously startled at first and nearly dropped Spike. But Xander held his arms in place for a moment until Angel got the idea. He figured that Angel probably realized he was carrying another vampire, since Spike’s bare skin was cold as a corpse’s but he was breathing. But Xander didn’t know whether Angel had any clue which particular vampire he held.

Xander took the end of the leash in his hand and slowly walked across the parking garage. He kept the lead short, trying to ensure that Angel didn’t bump himself or his cargo into anything as they went.

One of Xander’s neighbors exited the elevator—a middle-aged man who always wore expensive suits. He gaped at the spectacle before him, but Xander only mumbled “Hello,” and pushed the button for his floor.

Inside the apartment, he pulled the vampires into his bedroom, and then helped transfer Spike onto the bed. As far as he could tell, Spike hadn’t regained consciousness. He looked at the battered wreck on the expensive comforter, and then at the large vampire beside him, who was standing uncertainly and trembling slightly.

Fuck.

He spent several minutes breathing deeply, trying to decide what to do next. Finally, he laid what he hoped was a comforting hand on Angel’s bicep and fished out Lindsey’s keys from his pocket. He unlocked the hood and he could feel Angel’s muscles tense.

Slowly, he pulled the hood upwards.

Angel took several deep, whooping intakes of air as his mouth and then nose were freed. When the mask was off completely, he stood with his eyes shut until Xander whispered, “Angel?”

Angel’s eyes flew open and he stared at Xander in shock. Then he caught a glimpse of what was on the bed. He made a small, animal-like noise and fell awkwardly to his knees. He was panting heavily. Could vampires hyperventilate?

Xander did what he had to do—he knelt beside him and grabbed his bicep again. “Angel? Listen to me. I need your help, okay?”

The vampire gaped at him, his eyes wide and panicked.

“You’re okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you. But Spike…Jesus, I need to try and put Spike back together. Can you do this?”

Angel still stared blankly at him. “Xan—Xander? Wha—“

“Fuck, Angel!” Angel flinched back and Xander lowered his voice. “I don’t have time for this now. Explanations later. Now…just do like I say or stay out of the way.”

Xander stood and headed for the kitchen. Blood first. Fortunately, he’d stocked up before he went to the office today. But how the hell was he going to get it into Spike? After a moment of thought, Xander went rooting through the kitchen drawers. Aha! In the fourth drawer he found what he was looking for. A small stainless steel funnel. He grabbed it and a tub of cow’s blood and went back to the bedroom.

Angel was exactly where he’d left him, but now he was staring at Spike. He startled violently when Xander re-entered the room.

Xander sat on the edge of the bed and gently moved Spike until he was flat on his back. Then he poked the end of the funnel into the port in his navel and poured some of the blood inside. He waited for it all to drain through, then poured more. He repeated until he’d emptied the pint container. He had the feeling Spike was going to need a lot more, but he didn’t want to overdo it, either.

He placed the funnel and empty tub on his nightstand and went into the bathroom. He brought out a big pile of towels—all the clean towels in the room, actually. He dumped them on the bed. Then he was off to the kitchen again for the biggest bowl he could find, which he filled with warm water. He set it on the nightstand, too.

And then back to the bathroom, where he picked up a bar of soap, and then almost pulled a First-Aid kit out of the cabinet. He didn’t, though. Spike’s injuries were so far beyond the nicks and splinters the little box was intended for.

He walked back toward the bed and spent a long time just staring. He’d seen Spike hurt before. That man in the hotel had written a rough draft of suffering on Spike’s body. This, this was a masterpiece.

He decided that if he only dealt with one little part of Spike at a time, maybe he could handle it. Okay. Face first, then.

He dabbed a damp washcloth against Spike’s skin, trying to rid it of the dried blood and grime and…other things. Soon enough, he was clean enough for Xander to inspect the damage. There were several cuts and gouges, small but deep. His nose looked broken, although it was in better shape than Lindsey’s. His lips were inflamed and cracked.

Oh, but his eyes.

One of them was badly bruised, but when Xander examined it closely, it appeared as if the eye itself was unharmed. He very carefully removed all the encrusted gunk from the area, hoping Spike might be able to see out that eye when he woke up.

Because he sure wasn’t going to be able to see out the other one.

Swallowing acrid bile, Xander took a closer look. Most of the eyeball was just…gone. Some tissue remained in the socket, though. Xander knew vampires couldn’t regrow missing body parts, and he had no idea whether enough was left of this one to enable Spike to heal it. He did the best he could to clean it out, at least.

As Xander moved down Spike’s body, tenderly cleansing his neck and chest, there was a commotion behind him. He whirled around.

Angel had crawled to the corner of the room farthest from the door and was cowering there. Christ, he never thought he’d see that.

Lindsey was standing in the bedroom doorway. Xander wasn’t sure whether the man had a key to the apartment or whether Xander had left the front door unlocked. Didn’t really matter anyway. Lindsey had washed his face and there was a bandage across the bridge of his nose, but he was still wearing his blood-splattered shirt.

Xander was going to tell him to get the fuck out, but then he saw the expression on his face. It was…wistful.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Lindsey said quietly.

“Yeah. I do.”

“He’d rip your throat out if he could.”

“Maybe. He wouldn’t force me to sell my soul, though.”

Lindsey blinked and then nodded.

Xander returned to Spike’s chest. It was full of small, deep wounds, as if someone had scooped out his flesh with a melon baller. The rings had been torn out of his nipples, and the bruising was so dark it was almost black in places. Xander suspected Spike had some cracked ribs, too.

“I am sorry, Xander.”

Xander looked toward the doorway again. “You’re still here?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be treated that bad. He was just—“

“You know what?” Xander was proud of how steady his voice remained. “I don’t give a shit. If you say another word, I’m gonna end up hitting you again, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop this time.”

Lindsey closed his mouth and nodded again.

“You’re scaring Angel. Your keys are in the kitchen. Take them and get out.”

Without another word, Lindsey left. A moment later, Xander heard the front door close.

Xander decided to continue to ignore the vampire in the corner, and instead concentrate on the one on his bed. Spike’s belly was bruised and torn like his chest, and much more concave than it ought to be, but otherwise seemed okay. Of course, what did he know? Not like he was a demon doctor or anything.

There was a small moaning sound, and Xander realized it came from Spike. He looked up at Spike’s face. The working eye was cracked open a bit now, and it looked as if Spike was trying to focus it on Xander.

“Spike?” he whispered.

“M-M-Master?” was the hoarse, almost inaudible reply.

“Not Master, baby. Just Xander, remember?”

Spike moaned again. “Hurts,” he said, and Xander’s heart broke.

“I know,” he said, smoothing Spike’s hair back from his forehead a little. He choked back a sob. “I know. I’m gonna help you get better, okay?”

Spike’s breathing was shallow and whistling. He moved his head a little, groaned, and his eyelashes fluttered. He looked as if he were fighting to stay awake.

“Spike, you’re safe now. You’re back home.”

“H-h-home?”

“My apartment. You’re in our bed, Spike.”

“How…how long….” His voice was so tiny that Xander had to bend closer to make it out. “How l-long can I st-st-stay?”

Shit. Spike must have thought…oh, shit.

“Baby, you can stay forever. They stole you. I’ve made sure it won’t happen again.” He smoothed his hand on Spike’s brow again.

Spike frowned and opened his mouth to say something else, but the words caught in his throat. So Xander leaned over a little more and kissed the scarred brow, and he murmured, “Sshh. It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” And he hoped to god that that was true, at least for a while.

Spike’s eye fluttered closed, and Xander sighed. He needed fresh water. When he got up, he saw Angel was still hunched in the corner, watching him silently.

With fresh warm water, Xander cleansed Spike’s groin. Incredibly, despite his terrible condition, his cock was rock hard. It was bruised and cut, though, and his balls were misshapen. His cock ring was still in place, but the glans was torn around it, as if someone had tugged on it very hard. His hips looked just wrong, too, and Xander was afraid that his pelvis was dislocated or broken. Or both.

Xander did what he could, then moved on to Spike’s legs, which were as bad as the rest of him. Probably broken in several places. And his feet were mangled. Xander straightened them a little.

He turned next to Spike’s arms and hands, and once again, his fingers were twisted and knotted. He attempted to straighten them as well.

Right. Time to look at Spike’s back side.

As gently as he could, he rolled the vampire over. The flesh on his back and buttocks hung in tatters. Xander cleaned it and patted it back in place when he could. Finally, he pushed Spike’s legs apart and spread his cheeks. He’d had a pretty good inkling of what he was going to find, but still he hissed in shock. Spike’s hole was stretched grotesquely, the edges bloody and badly lacerated. Something a lot bigger than a cock had been roughly shoved inside him, it appeared.

At last, Xander had done as much as he could. He turned Spike onto his back again. He took the bowl of water into the kitchen and placed it in the sink, then dumped all the dirty towels in the small laundry room. He stopped at the linen closet and pulled out a spare blanket, which he spread out over the vampire. He still looked awful, but at least he was clean.

Blood. Maybe he could take some more blood.

This time, Xander fetched two tubs from the fridge. Back in his bedroom, he stood in front of Angel. Angel looked up at him, his face deeply etched with a frown.

“Are you hungry, Angel?”

Angel looked suspicious, but he nodded. Xander held out one of the cartons. “Here. It’s cow. You can zap it in the microwave if you want.”

Hesitantly, Angel took it from him, then just held it. “It’s okay, Angel. Go ahead and drink it.”

Angel licked his lips and swallowed, then squinted up at Xander. “Master?”

“Jesus, no, Angel. Just Xander, okay?”

“You…Spike…what…?”

Xander knew this all must be terribly confusing, and Angel had every right to be traumatized. But he just didn’t have the energy to deal with him now. So he put on his calmest face and said, “I’ll explain later. I really need to do what I can for Spike now. Do you want to go rest?”

“Can…can I stay with him?” Angel looked down at the floor as he spoke.

“Sure. Whatever you want. Go ahead and eat, and I’ll help you get settled in a while, okay?”

Angel carefully pulled the top off of the container and inhaled deeply as he brought it to his face. His eyes closed. Xander wondered what Lindsey had been feeding him. Cautiously, Angel sipped at his blood, clearly relishing the flavor.

Xander left him in his corner and returned to Spike. He slowly poured another pint of blood into his stomach.

He looked at the pale, still form on the bed, and the other one sitting curled in on himself in the corner. Not for the first time, he wondered how the hell he got himself in these situations.

 

[Part 9c](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/27135.html#cutid1)


	17. February 2016 (part 9c)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 9c**_  
**Chapter Title:** February 2016 (part 9c)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done.

Today's chapter is long and, I hope, exciting. An extra warning: there is a graphically icky bit, but it is very brief.

Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Also thank you to [](http://selana1505.livejournal.com/profile)[**selana1505**](http://selana1505.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;who helped with my French.

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in three parts** **

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
10.

It wasn’t the pain he noticed first. He was used to that. And it wasn’t the eternal hunger in his loins. It had receded a bit, and he was used to it as well. It was the warm hand on his head, sometimes resting for a moment, sometimes carding through his hair.

He peeled open his eye.

Oh, he hadn’t dreamt it before. It was Xander. Caressing him like…like his mother used to do. He’d had rheumatic fever when he was a small boy—a century and half ago—and his mother had sat at his bedside and touched him just like this. Now he was cold instead of feverish, but it still felt so nice. It felt like someone cared.

He tried to smile at Xander, but his mouth wasn’t working very well.

It was all right, though. Xander smiled back and ran a finger across Spike’s eyebrow. “Want to try and eat?” he said softly.

Spike tried to nod, but even that small movement sent shooting pain through his head. Xander understood. “I’ll be right back,” he said. It was hard work to keep his lid open, so he allowed it to close again until Xander returned.

Something was pressing against his battered lips.

“Open up, Spike,” Xander said. He did, and—

Jesus bloody Christ.

Xander had opened a vein and was giving him his wrist.

He looked at the man in shock, and Xander grinned at him. “I though this was easier than messing around with cups and straws.”

“But—“

“Drink, before you make a mess.”

Spike closed his lips around the wound and took a small, cautious draw. Nothing, nothing in the world tasted as good as human blood straight from the source. He could feel Xander’s pulse, could taste the life zinging though the fluid.

“That’s good,” said Xander. “Just remember not to bite, or you’re gonna get zapped.”

Not for the first time, Spike wished he _could_ use his fangs, and show Xander just how nice a vampire bite could be, if the vampire chose to make it so. But that pleasure would still be wrapped in a bit of pain, and the chip would punish him.

For now, though, it was wonderful to suck gently on Xander’s warm, soap-scented skin. He could nearly feel his body healing more with every drop.

Much sooner than he would have liked, he broke the suction and turned his head slightly away. He watched as Xander applied a plaster to his wrist. “You want some cow, too? Or maybe pig? I got both.”

He was still a little hungry, but he didn’t want to wash away the flavor on his tongue. “Soon,” he rasped, and Xander nodded and smoothed his hair away again.

“Can I do anything else for you, Spike?”

Spike wanted to ask him if he’d meant what he said before. Had Xander really not intended for him to be taken away? Would he truly be allowed to stay here? But he didn’t have the strength to form that many words. Instead, he said, “Stay with me, please?”

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

Spike let out a long sigh of relief and leaned slightly into the calming hand on his head. Then the barest hint of an odor reached him. He couldn’t smell very well right now—his nose was fairly well smashed—but a bit of air could still make it through. This smelled like….

He moved his head, wincing at the pain, but trying to get a look around the room. It was Xander’s bedroom, he saw now. There was Willow’s picture on the bedside table; there was that hideous swirly painting on the wall that always made Spike slightly dizzy; there was Xander’s desk, messy as always with stacks of papers and blueprints; there was—a vampire. Huddled in the corner, his long arms wrapped around his shins, his eyes wide from watching Spike feed from Xander.

“Sire?” he whispered.

Angel looked uncertain, and then Xander said, “Angel, you can come closer if you want.”

Angel hesitated for a moment and then rose to his feet. He wore only a heavy iron collar and a plastic device over his jutting cock, and his skin was smudged with grime, but he looked uninjured. He padded over to the bed and stood awkwardly before sinking to his knees. He glanced up at Xander.

“It’s okay. You can talk or…whatever. I didn’t bring you here to hurt you, Angel.”

Angel swallowed and ducked his head. Spike might have thought he’d enjoy seeing the big ponce like this, diffident and subservient. But he didn’t. It hurt, almost as much as the physical damage to his body.

Angel murmured, “Why did you bring me here, Ma—Xander?”

Xander sighed and rubbed his face in his hands. Suddenly, he looked old. Spike’s stomach lurched and he wondered if Xander was ill.

“Honestly? I don’t know. But I saw you there and…and I couldn’t just leave you there. Not with that prick Lindsey. Not with any of those assholes.”

“But…Spike?”

“Spike’s mine. Those motherfuckers took him from me, and look what they’ve done to him. But I got him back—got both of you—and they won’t touch either of you again.”

Spike’s mouth cooperated enough for him to smile a little. It was true. Xander hadn’t given him away, and he wouldn’t be returning him to that place.

“I’m sorry, Spike. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better.” Xander leaned down and kissed Spike’s forehead. “I’m going to…go get something to eat. Give you two a chance to talk.” Spike’s breathing quickened. Xander was leaving. “I’ll be right in the kitchen, Spike, I promise.”

Sodding fool of a vampire. Afraid to be alone. But he’d been alone so long.

Xander stood and stroked Spike’s arm. “I’ll bring you back some cow. And Angel, I’ll show you where you can get cleaned up and rest if you want.” With one last stroke, he left the room.

Spike was so tired and his eyelid was so heavy, but there was Angel, gazing solemnly at him. “Jesus, William,” he said. “What have they done to you?”

_What haven’t they done to me?_ Spike wanted to ask, but he only blinked wearily.

“What Xander said…. He didn’t do this?”

“No,” croaked Spike, as forcefully as he could. “Xander’s…good. He’s…he’s been kind.”

Angel’s mouth set in a thin line. “He’s been fucking you.”

“Want him to. Want him.”

Angel glanced at Spike’s crotch, where his miserable hard-on must be visible even beneath the blanket. “You just need to be fucked by anything.”

“No. He doesn’t…doesn’t give me the drugs. Doesn’t make me need.” He didn’t have the energy to argue with his grandsire. The black maw of unconsciousness was yawning at his feet, and he badly wanted just to fall in.

“He’s made you his slave, Spike.”

“Can’t be…can’t be anything else now.”

“He could set you free.”

“No…nowhere to go….” And he fell.

 

11.

Angel was gazing at Spike, who appeared to be asleep again.

He glared a little at Xander. Xander ignored him. Carefully, Xander poured another pint of blood into the port in Spike’s stomach. Maybe he was imagining it, but the bruising looked a little faded already, the cuts a little smaller and shallower.

Sighing, Xander put down the funnel and empty blood container, and turned to Angel. “You want to get cleaned up?” he asked.

Angel nodded, so Xander gestured for him to follow. He led him into the guest bathroom—the one that had been Spike’s, for a while—and pointed out where the towels were.

Angel scowled down at his plastic-encased cock.

“I can take that thing off, but that shit they gave you won’t wear off for a few days at least. If it comes off, are you gonna, well, hurt yourself?”

Angel’s scowl deepened, but he nodded again. Then he growled, quietly, “Clothes?”

“Nuh-uh. If you get caught with clothes, I go to prison, and you…you really don’t want to think about where you go. Sorry.” Then a thought struck him.

“Uh, Angel...how long have you been…with Lindsey?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you have other…owners…before him?”

“No.”

Shit. “What year was it, Angel? When did they get you?”

Angel frowned in thought. “It was…1999.”

When they first started rounding up vamps. So if Angel had been held at Wolfram &amp; Hart that whole time, he probably didn’t know what was happening. “Can you come sit with me for a minute?” He gestured toward the bed.

Angel looked skeptical, but followed him over. Xander sat down, but Angel knelt on the floor next to him, sitting back on his heels. Lindsey must have drummed some lessons into him over the years.

“Angel…they’ve caught all the vampires. _All_ of them. They’re—you’re—all slaves.”

Angel’s eyes widened in shock. “All?”

“Yeah. They’ve chipped you all—you know about the chip?”

Angel shivered and nodded curtly.

“They’ve passed all these laws, like no clothes. You have to wear a collar, too. Though I can get you a more comfortable one if you want. And they can track you, Angel. Anywhere.”

“All California?”

“The whole world. Everywhere.”

Angel bowed his head and closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. Xander said nothing. Maybe Angel had been harboring hopes of escape all these years, and Xander had just dashed them.

“I’d have thought they would have made an exception for you. I mean, Buffy—“

“She helped them catch me.”

“What?” The words had been so quiet Xander wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

“Buffy helped them catch me. She told me…told me she needed to talk to me. So I went to Sunnydale, to her house. These soldiers were there, and they shot me with something…. She just watched.”

“Fuck.” He knew how Buffy had become hard after she’d met Riley. He’d seen her turn her back on Oz. But he didn’t expect her to actually have gone so far as to betray Angel. What had happened to her?

Suddenly, Angel’s head snapped up. “She’s not here, is she?”

“No, god no.” Relief flooded the vampire’s eyes. “I haven’t talked to her since, well, about since they got you.”

“But you got Spike.”

“I found him. About a year and a half ago. I had no idea—I hadn’t seen him since high school, since that time when he was trying to get Willow to do a love spell. But I checked in to this hotel, and there he was…a slave. I…eventually, I bought him.”

Angel sat there for a moment, trying to process all of this. “You work for Wolfram &amp; Hart?”

Xander clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”

“You know what they are?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Then why?”

“I was…I _am_ weak. I let them seduce me, I guess.”

More silence. Finally, “What happened to the others. Willow?”

Xander had to look away. After all these years, her name still tore at his heart. “Dead. She died in 2000. Vampire. Just a year or two before they were all caught.”

Angel winced. “Giles?”

“I don’t know. He went back to England, after Buffy…she stopped being a slayer, and instead she worked with those soldiers. She wouldn’t even…. Fuck, it’s like it wasn’t even her anymore. After Willow died, I just left. Haven’t been back in Sunnydale since.”

Angel breathed in and out, and Xander wondered how it felt to be sold out by the person you loved, the one you’d thought loved you back. Not that there’d ever been anyone like that in Xander’s life anyway.

He needed to go check on Spike.

He stood and walked to the door. “Go ahead and shower. You can sleep in this bed if you want. Help yourself to the blood in the fridge. Spike has a lot of books, if you feel like reading, or there’s the tv…make yourself at home. We can talk later, okay?”

He turned to leave.

“Xander?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not going to give me back to Mas—to Lindsey?”

“No. I guess now, you’re mine too.”

 

[Part 10a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/27187.html#cutid1)


	18. March 2016 (part 10a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 10a**_  
**Chapter Title:** March 2016 (part 10a)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Two-part chapter today. There's healing and crabiness and the plot at W&amp;H gets thicker.   
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts** **

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
 

**MARCH 2016**

1.

“Ssshh! Shhh. It’s all right. You’re safe.”

Spike crawled out of the depths of his nightmare, and there was Xander. His arms around him, soothing him. Spike shuddered and leaned his head against the man’s broad chest.

It had been the really bad dream, the one where it was Xander who was ripping the flesh from his body and mangling his limbs. A Xander with no soul, more malevolent than even Angelus had ever been.

Xander cupped his hands behind Spike’s head and drew him in for a long, tender kiss. Spike’s cock, which should have still been sated after the previous night’s activities, awoke and twitched with interest. It didn’t care about the bloody nightmares.

Xander pulled away and caught his breath. “I have to go to work.”

“Don’t. Stay home.”

“My job.”

“Bugger your job. Stay here with me.”

He knew Xander wouldn’t, but he asked anyway. It wasn’t just that he missed him while he was gone, although he did. But he worried about him, too. Worried about what those wankers were doing to him. Xander came home every day looking a little more worn, his face more lined, his hair a shade grayer. Besides, he hated being cooped up with the big pouf, who brooded at him and rolled his eyes and generally radiated unhappiness. As if it were somehow Spike’s fault that he was in this predicament.

Xander kissed him quickly and rolled out of bed. “Wish I could, baby. It’s Friday, though, so we have the weekend. Wanna go for a walk tonight?”

Spike nodded eagerly. He hadn’t been outside since the lawyers had taken him. Until a few days ago, his broken bones hadn’t mended enough for him to get across the flat, let alone go anywhere. But now he was a little stronger, and a change of scenery sounded nice.

Spike lazed in bed while Xander showered and dressed. It was pleasant to be in bed because he wanted to, rather than because he had to. Before he left, Xander detoured to the bed for another, toothpaste-flavored kiss.

“Can I cook for you tonight, Xander?”

“You feeling up to it?”

“Yeah. I’ll do something simple.” He was anxious to feel useful again, to have some sort of purpose, even if it was just throwing a steak under the burner.

“Sounds good. I’m getting tired of takeout.”

One last kiss and Xander was gone.

Eventually, Spike rolled out of bed and limped into the kitchen. Angel was in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book in his hands. Xander allowed him on the furniture, of course, but he still didn’t seem comfortable there. Now he flashed Spike a look of annoyed contempt and bent back over his reading.

Spike tried to ignore him while he poured some blood into a mug and waited for it to heat, but the truth was Angel’s scorn hurt. Which was bloody stupid—it’s not like the tosser had ever admired Spike Before. Now, though, Angel seemed to blame Spike for being what he was, and that just wasn’t fair. Spike hadn’t had a say in his own fate for years. And it wasn’t as if Angel himself wasn’t prancing about naked and collared. As for Xander shagging Spike, he refused to feel ashamed of that. Xander wasn’t forcing him to do anything he didn’t want to do, and Spike had spent nearly his entire existence—human and demon—yearning for someone or other. It was his nature. There were certainly worse sorts to pine after than Xander Harris.

Spike peered at Angel over the top of his cup. He snorted softly. Angel’s hair was beginning to grow back and he kept running a hand through it, as if to check that it was still there. Stupid sod. Stupid bloody handsome disapproving sod.

Spike finished his breakfast and rinsed out the mug, then hobbled off to shower. He liked Xander’s shower very much. It was large enough for two, and it had a built-in seat which had come in handy as he recuperated. The supply of hot water was seemingly endless as well.

Now he turned on the tap and stepped inside, leaning back blissfully into the needle-like streams of liquid. He quickly shampooed and rinsed, then grabbed for the bar of soap. It was almond-scented, which made him feel a bit like a marzipan vampire, but that was all right. It produced especially thick, creamy suds, which he spread luxuriously over his chest. His hand lingered over his right nipple, tweaking it, and he was surprised to find himself missing the silvery rings that the sadistic Frenchman had torn out. Perhaps he would ask Xander for new ones—certainly, Xander had enjoyed playing with them.

Spike’s hand wandered lower, over his flat belly, where the wounds were no longer visible at all, and then to his groin. All these years, and the hairlessness of it still felt odd. He cupped his slippery hand under his bollocks and his cock, which had already been at half-mast, filled completely. He watched as the water beaded on the piercing and dripped down onto the crown, gathering slightly in the folds of his retracted foreskin.

Scooping up a handful of suds, he wrapped his palm around his long, hard shaft and slowly stroked. He was remembering the previous night, when Xander had finally fucked him for the first time since he’d brought him back here. They’d started out slow and gentle, Xander’s big hands wandering over Spike’s flank and stomach, and then Xander was tugging on Spike’s cock just as Spike was doing now, while Xander’s tongue lay possession to Spike’s mouth.

It had felt so good that, without warning, Spike had come, his seed shooting sticky onto Xander’s hand and both their abdomens, and Xander had laughed and licked Spike clean until he was hard again.

Spike had urgently wanted Xander inside him. It wasn’t like with the drugs, when he merely desperately needed to be filled, to have his terrible itch scratched by anything. Last night he had required Xander specifically, his Xander, to take him and stuff him and mark him. He’d spread his legs and wiggled his arse, and Xander had laughed again and covered his body in kisses, making him feel treasured and wanted instead of whorish. Then Xander had spread a little slick on himself and, without bothering to prepare Spike—who was already panting and whining in readiness—he sank deliciously inside.

At first, mindful of the other vampire in the next room, Spike had tried to keep quiet as Xander moved inside him. But soon Xander was pounding away, his hand rapidly stripping Spike’s eager cock, and Spike decided he couldn’t stay silent and didn’t bleeding care what his grandsire heard. So his whimpers turned to moans, and his moans became entreaties—“Please, Xander, more, please, like that, like that, fuck, like that”—and then his words degraded into incoherent growls and bellows, and he’d come again, so hard that after Xander, too, had shouted and climaxed, Spike was still trembling and shivering with the aftershocks.

Xander had kissed him again, then, tasting of Spike’s own spend. But it was only when he tasted Xander’s blood and his head received an unexpected shock that he realized that he’d changed to demon form.

Xander pulled his face away and they both said at the same time, “Are you all right?”

Xander raised his eyebrows slightly and Spike, who still hadn’t quite regained full power of speech, said, “Chip.”

“Sorry, baby. My fault. I caught my tongue on your fang.” And Xander had kissed Spike’s bumpy brows.

“Sorry, Xander, I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine. You can change whenever you want, okay?”

Spike had blinked at him. “But…I’m ugly.”

“No,” Xander said, punctuating it with another kiss. “You’re still beautiful, dear.”

Spike’s cock had pulsed at the endearment. Xander chuckled and slithered down Spike’s body, taking the reawakened organ in his mouth, and soon bringing Spike to a third, howling, release.

Now, the hot water sheeting down his back and over his shoulders, Spike recalled the feeling of Xander’s cock and hands and mouth, in and on and around his body. His hand pumping rapidly up and down, Spike lifted one foot onto the seat and slipped a soapy finger into his twitching hole.

Images flashed before his eyes like a film on fast-forward: Xander’s face when they were shagging, his brows furrowed in concentration and his lower lip caught between his teeth; Xander’s broad, strong back, rippling with muscles; Angel standing in the kitchen, pale under the fluorescent lights, his collared throat working as he swallowed blood from a mug and his cock hanging soft and thick between his legs; Xander’s wrist, bandaged from feeding Spike; Angelus slouching in a low-slung doorway, his long hair escaping from a black ribbon, a tiny smirk curling the corner of his blood-smeared mouth; Drusilla, starry-eyed and smiling wickedly, Miss Edith clutched in her hand; Xander soothing him out of his nightmare; Xander’s brown mop of hair bobbing gently at Spike’s groin.

With a hoarse yell and a fierce spasm, Spike came, his spend spurting onto the blue-tiled wall.

 

2.

It was a strange day.

Lindsey had been avoiding him ever since Xander had retrieved the vampires, which was just fine with Xander. When they did meet, out of the necessity of the portal project, Lindsey had been subdued and businesslike. He’d had to see a doctor over his nose and the swelling and bruising had persisted for a long time. He now had a definite bump and a slight cant to one side, and that made Xander happy every time he saw it.

Today they had to work together for a short while, consulting over some contracts, but Lindsey seemed especially distant and distracted. More than once, Xander had to repeat a question, and a couple times he even had to nudge Lindsey out of a blank-faced reverie.

As Xander leaned over Lindsey’s shoulder to peer at his computer screen, Lindsey turned his chair around and asked, “Are you happy?”

Xander stared at him, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Are you happy? I mean…fuck. Is your vampire okay?”

“He’s healing. Why the fuck do you care?”

Lindsey sighed heavily and shook his head. “I dunno. I was just wonderin’ if everythin’ worked out for you.”

“I’m living with two traumatized vampires and you forced me to sell my soul to an evil law firm and now I’m building a gateway to hell so we can traffic in slaves. Yeah, everything’s working out just dandy, Lindsey.”

“If you’re feelin’ crowded in that apartment I can hook you up with a nice house. The firm owns—“

“The firm owns me, and it’s not about the apartment. Look, can we just get this done?”

“Yeah, okay. I just…just wanted to know.” And he turned his chair back to the monitor.

Instead of eating lunch, Xander had a hard, fast workout in the company fitness center, followed by a quick shower. He was in the hallway heading back to his office when he passed Lilah Morgan. She rarely appeared on his floor. A good thing, because he really couldn’t stand the bitch. She smiled at him enigmatically and trilled, “Be seeing you soon, Xander!” as she walked by. He had no idea what the hell that was about.

Then, not half an hour later, Holland Manners showed up at Xander’s door, giving Xander a major case of the creeps, as always. “How’s it going, son?” he asked.

“Fine. We’re making good progress.”

“Delighted to hear that. When do you expect to break ground?”

Xander thought about that for a moment. He wanted to give himself a little extra time for the inevitable disasters—although he’d already discovered that Wolfram &amp; Hart had a way with making most of those disappear quickly—but he couldn’t afford to delay too long.

Finally, he said, “Late June, I think. Maybe early July.”

Holland beamed at him and slapped his shoulder. “Excellent! My faith in you is well-placed, my boy.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Now, I have some slight modifications I need you to make to the plans.”

Xander groaned inwardly. Fuck. Holland’s last “slight modifications” had required several weeks of revisions. Outwardly, though, he only nodded.

Holland pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket and handed it to Xander. “Here you go. Everything you need to know.”

Xander took the drive and set it on his desk. “Thanks.” He managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“I don’t expect these to extend the completion date, Xander.” He said it pleasantly enough, but there was an implied threat there, and Xander nodded again.

“And for now? Keep these changes confidential, please. We haven’t discussed them yet with our business partners.”

“Sure, Holland.” Holland slapped him again and then left.

Xander’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch when he looked at the new files. It wasn’t that they required substantial changes, although they did, and he was facing a lot of extra work time now because of it. No, the problem was the changes themselves. Some of the rooms—which officially had no names, but which Xander had mentally labeled the holding cells, due to their obvious intended use—were a lot bigger than originally planned. As if they had to hold a lot more people. Some of these rooms were along external walls, and previously the plans had called for small, barred windows set very high. Now the windows were to be eliminated. And another entire section of the building, one which had been set aside for offices and storage, was now to be equipped with extra power outlets and sinks and some odd built-in furnishings. Their use would have puzzled Xander, except at L&amp;T he’d once worked on a university project that had involved rooms like these. They’d been intended to be labs.

Still feeling slightly sick, Xander made some notes to himself and packed up his portable hard drive and a stack of papers. He was going to have to work this weekend, and he’d hoped to spend the time with Spike.

Traffic home was especially heavy, even for a Friday. As he threaded his way impatiently through the mess, he made a mental note to request a bigger vehicle. An SUV like Lindsey’s, maybe. He hated to give up the Porsche, but there was no way he could transport both vampires in it. And necrotinted windows would be handy, too.

When he finally walked in the door, Spike was there to greet him with a nuzzle and a grope. Xander was thrilled that not only were Spike’s physical injuries disappearing quickly, but he seemed to be improving emotionally as well. He still had those horrible fucking dreams nearly every night, but at least he seemed happier, more confident. A tiny bit more like the old Big Bad.

Spike had fixed him a spinach salad and a big steak and a huge plate of hand-cut french fries—chips, Spike insisted. As Xander ate, Spike sat at the table with him, occasionally snagging a potato or two from Xander’s plate.

“Angel, do you want some human food?” Xander called.

Angel looked up from a darkened corner of the living room, where he was hunched over a book. He’d grunted a hello when Xander came home, but had been otherwise silent. Now he said, “No, thanks,” glowered at Spike, and went back to reading. Xander was really tired of him giving Spike the evil eye—the last thing Spike needed was grief from somebody else. Xander was going to have to have a careful talk with Angel.

But not right now. As Spike did the dishes, Xander changed into jeans and a red, long-sleeved, silk tee. “Still up for that walk?” he asked, and Spike grinned at him.

“Yeah, please,” he answered.

“Angel, want to join us? Just a short one, I think, but it’ll get you out of here.”

Angel glanced down at himself, then at the leashes that hung near the door. “No. Thanks.”

Xander shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He clipped the length of black leather onto Spike’s collar and they left.

It was a little brisk out, but still a nice night. Spike padded slightly behind Xander as they headed slowly down the block. Periodically, Xander glanced back at Spike. He was still limping slightly and sometimes he’d wince a little when he forgot himself and swung his right leg too far, but he seemed otherwise pretty good. He was clearly enjoying a little change in scenery.

After about four blocks, Spike’s steps slowed a little. There was a coffee house on this block, and Xander decided to stop and allow the vampire to rest a while. The coffee house had heated outdoor seating, so Xander tied the end of Spike’s leash to a table, and Spike sighed a little in relief when he sank to his knees. Xander smiled encouragingly at him and went inside to order a latte and a piece of chocolate cake.

When he came back outside, a man was leaning against the seating area’s railings and staring at Spike. Xander recognized him—it was the leather-clad guy who’d wanted to share Spike that time. Xander had run into him around the neighborhood three or four times in the past several months, and they’d nodded at each other. Today, as always, he had his pierced vampire crawling behind him, looking as beaten and miserable as ever.

“What the hell happened to your vamp?” he asked.

“Accident,” Xander replied shortly.

“That’s a shame! It had such a pretty face.”

Spike’s head was already bowed, but his shoulders slumped a bit at this.

“He still has a pretty face,” Xander said. He did. And although the damaged eye still was sightless, it had actually regenerated quite a bit. It was milky and opaque, no pupil or blue iris visible at all, but at least it was eyeball-shaped, and Xander was pretty confident that eventually it would heal completely.

“Yeah, well, I’m thinking of selling mine,” the man said, kicking lightly at the bruised figure. The vampire trembled and seemed even more defeated than before. “It’s still good enough as a pleasure model, but I’m gettin’ bored with it. Want to try something new.” He looked significantly at Spike as he said that.

“Uh-huh,” Xander said noncommittally.

“Don’t suppose you’d consider trading? I could throw in a lotta gear. You know, whips, fucking machines, shit like that. Probably…five thousand bucks worth.”

“Not interested.”

The man shrugged and walked away as Spike looked up at Xander gratefully. Xander twirled one of Spike’s curls around his fingers. “I meant it,” Xander said. “I’m not getting rid of you. You’re stuck with me for good.” Or at least as long as Xander could manage, given his probable life expectancy and vampire immortality.

Spike smiled at him and leaned against his leg, resting his head in Xander’s lap and practically purring.

 

3.

Xander had to work all weekend and he was obviously upset over whatever he was doing. Angel skulked silently in the corners. Spike was bored and bloody restless.

For a while he played video games and Angel rolled his eyes as Spike slaughtered zombies and stole cars. Then he listened to some music, but loud enough to annoy the pouf satisfyingly was also loud enough to disturb Xander, so Spike used the iPod Xander had bought him and stuck earbuds in his head.

He read. A novel with spies and secret weapons and fast cars. Then a book of poetry, which he carefully shielded from his grandsire’s view. Xander had given him his own laptop to amuse him as he was recuperating, so he surfed for a while. He’d recently discovered something called fanfic, and he was working his way through some _Passions_ communities on LiveJournal. Seemed that Fox and Ethan were up to more than they’d shown on the telly. Then he cleaned, tidying the kitchen and deliberately wiping dust off the bookshelves and onto Angel, who glared at him. But that was nothing new, was it?

He bent over to pull a pair of Xander’s dirty socks from under the sofa. When he stood again, he caught Angel looking. And, thanks to their enforced nudity, he also caught the evidence of the Angel’s interest, even though the poofter tried to hide it behind his book. Spike smirked wickedly and found several chores to do in the living room, all of which required him to lean over, or to stand close to Angel, waving his bum around enticingly. Finally, Angel huffed angrily and stomped off to his room, shutting the door behind him. Fine. Wanker couldn’t stay in there forever.

Occasionally, Spike was able to lure Xander away from his work with food or a massage or, once, a bloody good blowjob. Still, by Sunday evening Xander was exhausted, his sad eyes deeply shadowed and his mouth drawn. He found time for another walk, though, this time a slightly longer one. They passed the coffee house they’d stopped at on Friday, and that reminded Spike of the bloke in leather and his wretched vampire, and he shuddered. This master might beat the demon and poke holes in him and drag him around like a dog, but at least he got to go outdoors, and he appeared relatively whole and well-fed. Spike knew there were many worse fates possible for a slave.

When they returned home, Angel was moping around the kitchen. Xander hung up Spike’s leash and Spike brushed past Angel to get himself some blood. Xander collapsed into a chair in the living room and turned on the telly, flipping through channels rapidly and not really seeing the screen. Spike emptied his cup and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. He brought it to Xander and sat at his feet, wrapping his arms around the man’s legs and leaning his head against his knee.

“Xander?”

“Hmm.” Xander took a long, long swallow.

“Why don’t you just quit?”

“What?”

“That place—those lawyers. They’re dragging you down, love.” The endearment slipped out before he could catch it, but Xander smiled and carded his fingers through Spike’s hair.

“Someone around here’s gotta keep you in blood, baby.”

“You could get a job somewhere else. You’re smart, and you work hard…they can’t be the only game in town.”

Xander sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Is it the money you paid for me? I know it was a lot, and—“

“No, that’s not it. Don’t worry, you’re paid in full. It’s…it’s a long story and I so don’t wanna go there tonight. Come to bed?”

Spike rose to his feet and gave Xander a hand up out of the chair. Angel was leaning on the kitchen counter, watching them thoughtfully. Xander said, “You need anything, Angel? You’ve gotta be going crazy sitting around here all the time.”

“It’s a lot better than where I’ve spent the last bunch of years.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Xander put his arm around Spike’s shoulders and leaned tiredly against him. “Look, if you want, we can take a walk really late tomorrow night, when there’s nobody around. Or maybe a drive? I can only fit one of you in my car right now, though. Gonna get a bigger one.”

“A…a drive would be nice, Xander. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything but….” His voice trailed off and he looked down at his feet.

“Okay. A drive it is.” Xander squeezed Spike closer against him. “You don’t mind staying alone for a while, baby?”

Truthfully, Spike hated being apart from Xander one more minute than necessary. He hadn’t been completely alone in the flat since those men stole him, and he was a little afraid, despite Xander’s assurances. But Angel looked so…defeated. It hurt to see it. How could he begrudge him a few hours of relative freedom?

He kissed Xander’s cheek and said, “’S fine, Xan.”

“Okay, then. Goodnight, Angel.”

Xander and Spike started to walk away, but Angel cleared his throat, so they stopped and turned.

“Um, Xander?”

“Yeah?”

“You…you didn’t bring me here to fuck me, did you?”

Xander made a small choking noise. “Um, no. I haven’t even touched you.”

“I know. At first I thought…you and Spike….” He looked at something fascinating near the ceiling. “I’m sorry. And…and thank you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more. You don’t deserve this. Spike doesn’t deserve this. Nobody does.”

“But we’re vampires. We’ve killed—“

“I know. I knew one of the people you killed, remember? And I was there when you tried to end the world.”

Angel looked very uncomfortable. “Yeah, I’m—“

“It doesn’t matter. Look, I’m not sixteen any more. Vampires are bad, sure,” and he kissed Spike on the temple. “But humans—some humans, anyway—are worse. You two know that better than me.”

Spike tilted his head against Xander’s. He liked the warm bulk of him.

“You really care for Spike, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Angel. I really do.”

Spike’s dead heart almost beat.

“He can’t love you, you know. He’s a soulless demon.”

“Oi! Standing right here!” He was a soulless demon, but that didn’t mean—

Xander kissed him again. “He doesn’t have to love me. He didn’t choose this. And anyway, it seems to me he can love just fine. Didn’t he take care of Drusilla for a hundred years after you abandoned her?”

All right. Xander was going to get a bloody brilliant blowjob the minute Spike got him in the bedroom. Now, though, he merely gazed at the human gratefully. Xander really believed in him—believed he was a _person_.

But the old git was stubborn. “Xander, without a soul—“

“I’ve recently decided that souls are really overrated, Angel. People who have them can still do some really horrible things. And a man who doesn’t can still be pretty amazing.” Another kiss, and Spike felt himself begin to get hard. Not because of the kiss, although it was nice. Xander had called him a man.

He disentangled himself from Xander’s arm and started to tug him toward the bedroom. “C’mon, Xan. You’ll never convince the old sod. He’s been holier-than-me for over a hundred years now.”

Angel frowned at him—big surprise, that—and sighed. “It’s…okay. Just, thank you, Xander.”

Xander smiled at him. “You’re welcome.” And he allowed himself to be dragged away.

As soon as they were in bed, Spike spent a long time letting Xander know, in actions as well as words, how much he appreciated him. How much it meant to him to be seen as a man—not a monster, nor a slave. Because he knew what he was—a vampire. But William Pratt, that silly innocent, was still a part of him. A large part, much as he sometimes hated to admit it.

Soul or not, he could still feel. And he had—he’d felt fear and despair and grief and loneliness. And hope. And now, he thought, groaning softly as Xander rocked slowly inside him, now he was pretty sure he was feeling in love.

 

[Part 10b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/27496.html#cutid1)


	19. March 2016 (part 10b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 10b**_  
**Chapter Title:** March 2016 (part 10b)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Two-part chapter today. There's healing and crabiness and the plot at W&amp;H gets thicker.   
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts** **

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
4.

Monday was almost as strange as Friday.

There went Lilah again, grinning merrily at him. What was she up to?

He saw Lindsey only once, when he needed some legalese inserted in some paperwork. The bags under his eyes were so dark he almost looked like Xander had hit him again. His expensive suit was hanging on him; Xander realized he’d lost a lot of weight. He looked haunted.

“You got Holland’s changes?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Lindsey frowned. “Xander, do you know—“ He stopped.

“What?”

“Never mind. Here.” And he handed the papers back to Xander, who shrugged and left.

Spike had packed him a sack lunch, and wasn’t that the damnedest thing? Even his own mother couldn’t be bothered to do that when he was a kid. The few times she did, she was so wasted he’d ended up with bologna and jelly, or something equally vile. He’d learned to make his own lunches pretty quick. But Spike had made him a sandwich from leftover steak, on bread that the vampire had baked himself (“Have to use the bloody expensive mixer for something,” he’d said), with a fruit salad and homemade noodle soup and a thermos full of fresh-squeezed lemonade. Jesus Christ.

So he ate at his desk, various blueprints spread in front of him and several files open on his gigantic computer screen. And, on a whim, he’d called home and left a message on the answering machine he hoped Spike would hear: “Great lunch, baby. I’ll thank you properly tonight.”

He’d been on his way to fetch some files from Lindsey’s personal assistant when he passed Lilah again. This time she was leading a small group of reddish creatures who were most definitely not human. They had pointed ears and orange eyes and needle-like teeth, and they were all wearing flowing black robes with capes attached. He was used to seeing demons at the office—a good percentage of the workforce was non-human--but this seemed to be a delegation of sorts. That worried him.

“Ah!” Lilah said. “Quick, let me introduce you. Gentlemen,”--calling them that was a stretch, Xander thought—“this is Alexander Harris. The chief architect and project manager.”

They all turned to stare at him intently. “Hi,” he said, lamely.

“Xander, these are our guests from Dxrav’hil.” The last word sounded like she was swallowing her tongue, and he had no idea where such a place might be, but he added, “Nice to meet you.”

One of the creatures stuck out a hand. It had seven fingers, each ending in a long claw. Xander wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to shake it, but Lilah gestured impatiently with her head, so he stuck out his hand as well, and the red thing grasped it. “It’th a pleathure, Mithter Harrith.” Xander guessed it was hard not to lisp around fangs, although Spike managed it. “We’re tho pleathed to be working with thith firm.”

“Thank you,” Xander said.

“You are…talented…for a human, yeth? Very valuable property.”

Xander didn’t like that at all, but didn’t want to risk arguing with the beast. Besides, it was true, wasn’t it?

The thing jiggled his hand one more time and then let go, and Lilah led them away.

Spike was waiting anxiously for him at home, already hard and leaking by the time Xander walked in the door. So Xander waved at Angel, who was watching something on tv, and promised him they’d go for their ride soon. “Want my ride first,” Spike muttered, and Xander took him to the bedroom and gave him one.

They emerged forty-five minutes later, somewhat disheveled, but Spike was smiling happily. “Want me to cook you something?”

“No, thanks,” Xander said, patting Spike’s extremely nice ass. “I’ll pick up something while I’m out. Want me to bring you anything back?”

Spike shook his head and rubbed up against him. “Just you.”

Xander smiled at the thought of sexy, insatiable vampires.

Apologetically, he took a leash off the rack. “Sorry, Angel. There’s a law.”

“I know.”

Xander hooked it onto Angel’s collar and noticed that the skin on Angel’s neck was red and raw-looking. His collar was tight and the edges were sharp and a little rough. “Would you like a new collar? You have to wear one, but I can get you one that’s more comfortable if you want. Like’s Spike’s.”

Angel glanced at Spike’s neck and sighed. “Okay, yeah. Thanks.”

Xander nodded. “We can stop on the way.”

He kissed Spike and patted his ass once more, and then he and Angel headed for the garage.

Angel seemed about to crouch on the floor, so Xander told him he could sit on the seat. They drove only a short way to DJ’s Dungeon. The clerk with the green Mohawk was there again. He smiled at Xander when he and Angel walked in. Angel studied his own feet.

Xander led Angel to the collar selection. One whole section was headed by a sign that read “Walsh Act Compliant.” He pointed at them.

“Pick whichever one you want, Angel.”

Angel clenched his jaw and stared angrily at the shelf. Maybe asking him to choose the symbol of his own servitude was too much.

“Want me to?”

Angel nodded wordlessly.

Xander looked for several moments and then finally chose one much like Spike’s, black leather interior with a steel exterior, but wider. “How about this?” he asked.

Angel looked at it and dipped his head a little. Okay. That was taken care of.

Xander was just about to go pay when another collar caught his eye. He held it for a moment, a small smile quirking his lips. Yeah. This one, too.

The clerk grinned at him as he paid, and then he and Angel returned to the car. When they were inside, he fished the key to the old collar out of his pocket and removed it from Angel’s neck. The flesh underneath was deeply indented and sore-looking. Carefully, he put the new one on. It was much looser. Angel put his hand up and fingered it for a moment.

“Thanks,” he said.

Xander tossed the old one out the window and drove away.

For a while, he just drove, neither of them speaking. He saw an In-N-Out and went through drive-through. The kid at the window gaped at Angel—Xander guessed they didn’t get many vampires sitting in German sports cars—but Angel looked out his window and pretended he didn’t see her. Xander pulled over to eat his burger and fries, and then drove off again.

Nearly an hour later, he stopped at the edge of a dark road. It was deep in a canyon, miles from anywhere. He’d been here before with Spike. He turned off the engine. “Want to get out?”

“Yeah.”

Angel followed Xander up a short, steep incline. They were at a bare, grassy spot overlooking the lights of the valley. Xander sat, and then Angel collapsed heavily beside him.

“You know what they do to vamps who run away?”

Angel looked at him. “Yes.”

“Good. Because if you take off, I’m not gonna chase you. I couldn’t catch you anyway. But they would. And I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Xander.”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to be stuck with me, and if there was anything I could do….”

Angel sighed. “I meant what I said yesterday, Xander. Thank you. I know…I know I could be a lot worse off. I have been.”

Xander nodded, and for a long time, neither said anything. Xander watched the lights twinkle attractively through the smog. The grass under him was dry and must feel pretty scratchy on the vampire’s bare ass.

He took a deep breath and turned to look at Angel. “Look, you can stay with me until we find a better alternative. If we ever do. And I’ll buy you blood and anything else I can to make you as comfortable as possible. I’ll keep Lindsey and those assholes away from you. And I certainly won’t fuck you, or expect anything of you. Except one thing. I’m just going to ask you to do one thing for me.”

“What?” Angel’s voice was low, almost a growl.

“Lay off Spike.”

“What?”

“Lay off him. He’s stuck there, too, and he doesn’t need you making him feel like shit all the time.”

“Xander, Spike’s—“

“I know. We went through this already. Vampire. Soulless demon. Doesn’t love me. I get it. So not the point here.”

“He’s just _using_ you, Xander. Playing nice so you don’t throw him out on his ass.”

“Who could blame him if he is? What else is he supposed to do?”

“You can’t trust him. I know him better than anyone, and you can’t trust him.”

“I’m not sure you know him at all. Because you know what? I’ve been sold out by plenty of people who were supposed to care about me. Humans, Angel. So have you.” Angel grimaced. It was a low blow, maybe, but he needed to make a point. “But when has Spike ever betrayed anyone? Even back in Sunnydale, when he was being as evil as he wanted, when he made a deal he stuck to it. Didn’t he?”

Angel didn’t respond.

“The only time I know of that he deceived anyone was that time he and Buffy worked together to stop you, Angel.”

“It was Angelus.” And that really was a growl.

“Yeah, Angelus, whatever. So he double-crossed you. After you’d come back and stolen away the vamp he’d loved and cared for for a century. And even then, he didn’t try to kill you. He helped stop the apocalypse and then took off with Drusilla—protected her, even after that skank had dropped him for you—and kept his promise to Buffy.

“How many times did you screw him over, Angel, with or without a soul?”

Angel narrowed his eyes and looked out at the view.

“So don’t tell me I can’t trust him. I don’t have to, anyway. He’s the one who has to trust me, and he has no fucking reason to. I…I let him down more than once.”

Xander bit his lip and looked up at the sky, as if he could find answers there.

“Xander, Spike’s nothing…nothing but a whore.”

Xander inhaled sharply and had to stop himself from slugging the vampire. That would only end badly.

“Is that why you’re so pissed, Angel? Because he likes it when we fuck?”

“It’s not his fault he’s a slave. But he doesn’t have to shake his ass and beg for it.”

Xander’s voice was low and rumbling. “Is that what he did to you? To Angelus?”

“That’s exactly what he did. He bent over and said ‘Please fuck me, Sire. More, Sire. Please, Sire.’”

“Why do you think he did that?” Now his voice was barely more than a whisper, but Angel heard.

“Because he was weak! He wanted me to protect him. Keep the bigger monsters away.” Angel, on the other hand, was nearly shouting.

“Maybe he was weak at first. Weren’t you? But years later, he was still with you, even when he was strong enough to kill a slayer, wasn’t he?”

“Habit,” mumbled Angel.

“You stupid motherfucker!” Angel gaped at him in surprise. “He _loved_ you, you asshole. You didn’t deserve it and you’ve _always_ treated him like shit, but he loved you. Still does, I think.”

Angel shook his head. “Bullshit. What makes you think that?”

“He told me, idiot. And why would he lie about that?”

Angel’s mouth was still hanging open. “He told you?”

“Yeah. When I told him Lindsey had you. And he asked me to try and buy you, or dust you, and he cried over you, you bastard. He’s been through years of hell and he cried over you. Would you have done the same for him, Angel?”

Angel closed his eyes and turned his head away.

“Has he told you where he’s been for the last 16 years?”

A small shake of Angel’s head.

“Let me. He was caught early on, too. Even before you, I think. And after the fun and games at the Initiative”—Angel shuddered at that—“he eventually ended up in a fucking hotel. Spent all that time in one room, hooded most of the time, drugged up on that synthetic crap. Couldn’t even remember his name. He had to stay there in the corner with his ass in the air unless someone felt like using him. And they did, Angel. They used him. _I _used him. If he was lucky it was just fucking, but some of the guests liked to hurt him instead. I saw it myself. And then the guest would leave, and they’d disinfect him like…like the fucking toilet, for Christ sake. And he’d wait to be used again.

“He wasn’t even a fucking slave, Angel. He was a _thing_, the with, an option you could choose for your room like smoking or nonsmoking, or a queen or double beds. For fifteen goddamn years!” By now, Xander was shouting, too. Why not? Nobody to hear anyway.

“So if he wants to use me to protect himself, he should use me. And if he actually has some fun while he’s at it, good for him. He has so little, Angel. He always has had so little.”

He was crying now, goddamnit, and he would have shouted some more, except Angel turned his head a little, and fuck if there wasn’t a tear trailing down his cheek, too.

Xander stood and walked a few yards away. He stood with his back to Angel and tried to collect himself. When he was calm, he turned. And then he felt like shit, because Angel was huddled there on the ground, naked and vulnerable, and hadn’t he been through hell, too? Twice. Once with Xander’s help.

Xander pulled in a lungful of polluted air and let it out slowly, then went back to Angel. He crouched down and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. You can’t imagine how fucking sorry I am. Just please, _please_ don’t hurt him anymore.”

Angel looked up at him. “Okay,” he said.

 

5.

Spike paced anxiously, waiting for them to return. Feeling like a pillock for being afraid to be alone.

When he heard them coming he waited by the door. He pounced on Xander as soon as it opened, almost hard enough to earn himself a correction from the chip. He wrapped his arms around Xander and nuzzled into his neck, and Xander gathered him in too, sharing his strength and heat.

When Spike finally felt solid enough to peel himself away, he glanced at Angel. To his surprise, he wasn’t looking daggers at Spike or rolling his eyes. He looked…thoughtful.

“Nice collar,” Spike said. Angel only blinked at him, and Xander groped at his arse a bit.

“Got you something, too,” Xander said. He handed Spike a bag.

Curiously, Spike stuck his hand in and pulled out a collar.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want. I thought you might like it, though.”

Spike turned it around in his hands. It was lined in soft black leather, which he knew would feel nice against his skin. The outside was set with two narrow steel bands. Between them was more black leather, studded all the way around with silvery metal…spikes. There was a large o-ring in the front and a lock in the back.

He looked up. Xander was staring at him anxiously. Spike smiled at him and he visibly relaxed. “Ta, Xander. It’s…it’s nice.” And it was. It would make him feel less like a slave and more like…a weapon. He’d worn something like it voluntarily for a while, back in the 70’s, after Sid stole his chain and lock around the neck idea. Git.

He pressed himself back against Xander, mouthing at his ear. “Will you put it on me, love? And then I can thank you properly for my pressie.”

Xander moaned quietly, and that sent a shiver down Spike’s spine and straight to his cock. “Glad you like it, baby.”

Spike sighed happily against him.

 

6.

All morning long, Spike fingered his collar. And sometimes he fingered the bite mark just above the collar, a mark made with blunt human teeth, and he wished it wouldn’t fade so quickly.

Angel stayed mostly in his room, but when he emerged at last to heat up some blood, he nodded almost pleasantly at Spike. Spike nodded back. He was suddenly slightly remorseful over all the noise he’d made last night. Couldn’t be easy for Angel, hearing all that, smelling Spike and Xander all over each other, and him not getting his end away at all. He was only slightly remorseful, though. Xander had shagged him brilliantly.

Angel brought his cup and sat in one of the black leather chairs. He was perched on the edge of it, not sprawled deeply into it as had always been his wont, but at least he’d made it up onto the furniture.

Spike set his book in his lap and took a sip of his own blood. He grimaced slightly—it had gone cold.

“Willi—Spike,” said Angel.

“Can call me William, Liam. I don’t mind.” And he didn’t. It was a perfectly respectable name, after all. Certainly loads better than anything else he’d been called lately.

“Will,” Angel said decisively. “I need to ask you something, Will.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know how Xander managed to get us? Get you back, I mean, and bring me here.”

What was Angel getting at? “I’m…I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Lindsey wouldn’t have given me over just because Xander asked nicely. And why did Wolfram &amp; Hart take you in the first place, and then give you back?”

Spike hadn’t really thought about it. He’d been just so bloody relieved to be back here, back with Xander. “I dunno,” he said.

“I’ve spent some time with those bastards. They’re evil and manipulative, but they’re not foolish. I think they wanted something from Xander, and I think he bargained with them to get us.”

Spike pondered this for a moment. It made some sense, but…. “What would they want from him? He already works for them, and all the money he has is what they’ve given him. What else does he have?”

“You’d know better than me, Will.”

But Spike shrugged. He honestly couldn’t think of anything.

Angel frowned. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either. They’ve been…doing something to him. He comes home tense and upset. It’s been worse lately.”

Angel stood and walked to the kitchen, then leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Do you know what, exactly, he does for them?”

“Have some idea,” Spike replied.

He told Angel about the files he’d snuck into, about the meeting in London. About the law firm’s plans to open a portal and send prisoners to other worlds. As he spoke, Angel’s face got grimmer and grimmer.

When he was finished, Angel asked, “Why is Xander going along with this? He’s not a bad guy.”

“Why doesn’t he tell them to piss off? I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.”

Now Spike was on his feet, too. This had been worrying him for some time, niggling at the back of his mind. But if Angel was concerned about it as well…. Fuck. They needed to do something. Who else did Xander have?

“Will? Do you think you could get into those files again?”

Spike looked at him for a moment and grinned. Yeah, he could do that.

Angel hovered over Spike’s shoulder while he logged in and clicked around. He showed his grandsire the building plans, and Angel muttered darkly over them. There were some new files, too, that Spike hadn’t seen before. One showed a revised building plan, and although Spike was no architect, it was clear to him that the revision called for some significant expansions.

And then, after searching around a bit, there was another new file. This one was a pdf—Spike had to explain to Angel what that meant—and it was called “CONTRACT.” Spike thought it might be related to the building, and perhaps they could see exactly who was investing in this project, and what the terms were.

But it wasn’t that at all. It was partly in legalese, which Spike could muddle through, and partly in Latin, in which he still did quite well. It was long, though, and Spike just read enough to get the gist of it. It was an employment contract, dated the day Xander had brought him and Angel home, and signed by Xander and Holland Manners. Spike remembered him from London. Much of the contract was fairly standard, although Spike did raise his eyebrows at the amount of Xander’s pay. Why were they paying him so much?

But then he got to the part where Xander’s contribution was described, and suddenly there was a gasp behind him and Spike found himself unable to breathe.

Bloody fucking hell.

Xander had sold his soul for them.

 

[Part 11a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/28114.html#cutid1)


	20. June 2016 (part 11a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 11a**_  
**Chapter Title:** June 2016 (part 11a)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Two-part chapter today. Spike is a little evil, the W&amp;H plot develops, and something awful happens to somebody (is that a tease or what?)   
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts** **

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**  
JUNE 2016**

 

1.

Spike sank below the surface and took Xander’s hard cock in his mouth, sucking greedily on it, enjoying the way Xander’s taste mingled with that of the chlorine, savoring the feel of the column of flesh against his tongue. Xander fisted his hands in Spike’s hair but didn’t move otherwise—he was letting Spike do all the work this time. Not that it wasn’t pleasant work indeed, with the warm water bubbling around him and his own cock floating limp and satiated between his legs.

Xander had just given him a brilliant blowjob as Spike sprawled at the edge of the Jacuzzi, staring up at the night sky. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shagged outdoors, and he liked the caress of the small breeze against his skin. Then Xander had nearly swallowed him whole while simultaneously brushing his finger against Spike’s prostate, and Spike had howled at the moon, more like a werewolf than a vampire.

But when it was time to reciprocate, he was back to his proper, demony self, teaching Xander that underwater fellatio was not only possible when your partner didn’t need to breathe, but also quite enjoyable.

He ran the fingers of one hand through the thick curls at the base of Xander’s cock, and rolled and petted the man’s heavy bollocks with the other. If he strained his eyes upward a bit he could see Xander’s face above the water, his head tipped back and his mouth open, the whole vision rippling like a fever dream. Then he opened his throat and swallowed. The thick organ inside him pulsed and Spike could barely taste Xander’s come, but he could feel it trickling thickly down his gullet.

Only when Xander’s cock began to soften did Spike release it. With a final kiss against the red tip, he surfaced. Xander grabbed him and clutched him in close for a kiss. Their flavors mingled against their tongues.

Spike was starting to get hard again, but he knew Xander was tired. He was always tired, these days. So Spike stepped out of the Jacuzzi and offered Xander a hand. They dried off and wandered into the house, their arms around each other.

Angel was standing in the kitchen, clutching so hard at a mug of blood that his knuckles were white and the cup had begun to crack. The lower half of his body was camouflaged behind the kitchen island, but Spike could scent his arousal from across the room, could see it in his glassy eyes. He must have been watching them through the windows.

Spike considered taking the piss, but ended up keeping his gob shut. Angel had actually been pretty decent to him lately and there was no point bollocksing that up. Besides, the old bastard was so obviously miserable. Spike thought for a moment about how he’d feel without Xander’s comforting presence in bed with him each night, and he shivered and pressed closer to him. Right. Leave the pouf alone for now.

“Gotta get up early. Again. Fucking meetings all morning. Need anything, Angel?”

“No,” Angel said in a slightly choked voice. “Thanks.”

Spike smiled at the old man—a genuine, nice smile—and Angel made an attempt to smile back. Then Spike and Xander headed toward the stairs, skirting open boxes as they went.

Their room—and Spike was actually starting to think of it that way—was lovely. Like the rest of the house, its floor was tiled in terracotta and the walls were painted a soft beige. It was a very large room with a terrace that hung practically over a cliff, the views all the way to the ocean on days when the air wasn’t too bad. And, like all the windows in the house, the ones in here were necrotinted, so Spike could look outside during the day and never worry about incinerating.

The house had come unfurnished and they’d only been in it a week, so most of the rooms were still bare. But Xander had managed to get the basics for this room: a massive, mission-style oak bed and matching chest of drawers, plus an entertainment cabinet complete with telly, game system, and stereo.

Spike liked the loo almost as much. It, too, had floor to ceiling windows with a view, as well as a bath plenty big enough for two and an enormous, glass-enclosed shower. He and Xander hadn’t had time yet to use the facilities properly. Spike was looking forward to getting buggered up against one of those big windows.

Now, he just climbed into the big bed next to Xander and pulled the silky sheets up over their bodies. Xander curled himself around Spike like a warm cocoon and, as he drifted off to sleep, Spike felt safe and…cared for.

Spike slept late, finally falling out of bed long after Xander had gone. He took a quick shower and then padded downstairs to the kitchen.

He loved this kitchen, too. It was spacious and bright. The appliances were top-notch, and Spike had already ordered several thousand dollars worth of gadgets and equipment online. They should start arriving any day, and then Xander could stop eating that horrible fast food all the time. What Spike liked best about the kitchen, though, was the way it looked out over treetops and toward the valley. It was like cooking in a treehouse. Now, he watched a hawk wheel in the expanse beneath the house, as he sipped his blood.

The new house had its disadvantages, too. There were no shops nearby, nothing but other expensive homes, all hidden away behind walls and gates. It made their walks less interesting. Also, Xander had his own office here, a large room downstairs with big bookcases and a monumental desk. It meant Spike didn’t have the luxury of lying silently in bed, watching his human work. And Xander was working nearly all the time now.

But there was a lovely garden to the side of the house, and a Jacuzzi and a small swimming pool, and all private enough for last night’s shag. There were several empty rooms, one of which Xander intended to turn into an exercise room, should he ever have the time. Spike had been shopping for fitness equipment as well.

There was an attached four-car garage, as well, big enough for the Porsche and for Xander’s new Escalade with loads of room to spare.

Angel had his own room, far enough from theirs that neither of them had to feel so guilty about the noise. Xander had furnished it similarly to theirs, also adding a big, leather armchair that was perfect for prolonged brooding.

The highlight of the house, though, lay in its center. Xander told Spike it was the reason he had instantly chosen this particular place, out of the several dozen properties Wolfram &amp; Hart was willing to give him. It was where Spike wandered now, knowing he would likely find Angel there.

And he was right. The space was a large atrium. The entire ceiling, which was perhaps twenty feet high, was of necrotinted glass. The floor was tiled, but there were large planting areas full of trees and flowers. A small stream meandered through the room, white and gold fish glinting in the sun. There were several benches, and this is where Angel had been spending a good part of his time, a book in his hand, a look of near-contentment on his face.

It was still a cage, all three of them knew. But it was a nicely gilded one, at least.

Angle looked up as Spike entered the atrium. “Will,” he said.

“Liam.”

Spike sat on the bench next to him. It was almost like being outdoors. There was even some sort of system that drew in air from outside, so there was always a bit of a breeze, scented with the usual Los Angeles odors.

“He still won’t say anything?”

Spike sighed. “No. Won’t talk about it at all.”

Neither of them wanted Xander to know that they nosed around in his computer files. He’d be very angry, and, although Spike’s fear of Xander getting rid of him had reduced considerably, there was still an undercurrent of something dark and angry in the man. Perhaps it was the corrupting influence of living with a vampire—or two—that had put it there, or perhaps it was the law firm’s doing. But Spike had an idea that it may have always been there. In any case, he didn’t want it rising to the surface. And even if Xander wasn’t furious enough to give him away, he’d certainly at least change the password to something less obvious.

Because they couldn’t let Xander know they’d read the files, they couldn’t let him know they were aware he’d sold his soul. Spike had been trying for weeks now to get him to talk about it on his own, but he avoided the subject completely. They needed to know—had he done it just to save them? And was there an escape clause of some kind? It was bloody frustrating.

They both sighed in unison.

 

2.

Xander stood up at his desk and stretched, wishing like hell he had time for a quick workout. But they were due to break ground at the end of the month and he still had several tweaks to make to the plans.

He jumped every time there was a knock at the door, dreading another visit from Holland with more “slight modifications.” Usually it was one of the harried-looking personal assistants, laden with papers to be signed. Occasionally it was Lilah, just checking up, she said, and he wondered silently at what point she’d developed such an interest in the project. Very rarely it was Lindsey, and the lawyer had little to say to him. He looked like shit, his eyes flat, the smugness wiped clean away. And he was nervous, too, nearly leaping out of his skin one morning when the mail boy arrived to deliver a package.

The move had gone smoothly, and he was glad he’d taken up this particular offer, even though it came from Lindsey. The vampires had more space to roam around, Angel had more privacy, and the atrium and the Jacuzzi were wonderful. Angel had kept his promise to be nicer to Spike. Spike seemed more relaxed, nearly happy sometimes. Xander didn’t know how long it would last—surely Spike would get restless soon. He could catch a certain edge of anxiety in Spike as well, and he didn’t know if it had to do with his captivity, or Xander’s treatment of him, or something else.

So he did the best he could for Spike, spending every spare moment with him. Sometimes the three of them went for drives, now that he had a vehicle large enough for all of them. He’d given Spike pretty much free rein with his credit cards. It seemed like a stupid thing to do, handing over his American Express to the evil undead, but Xander had more money now than he knew what to do with, and nothing he was all that interested in spending it on. And Spike had been surprisingly restrained in his purchases.

Exhausted as he felt, he allowed Spike to seduce him at least once a day. It was usually the high point of the day, actually. Like last night, when he’d bent Spike over the terrace railing and plowed into that luscious ass while Spike writhed beneath him and howled into the void.

But that wasn’t true. The sex was great. Wonderful. Mind-blowing. But the high points of his day were when Spike greeted him at the door, genuinely happy to see him. Before Spike, nobody had ever done that for him, not even Stacey or Beth. And at night, after the fantastic sex, when he wrapped his arms around that cool, lithe body, and Spike pressed back against him and wiggled a little until he was comfortable and sighed serenely. And in the morning, when he woke to find a vampire draped over him, his curls tumbled charmingly, his blue eyes—both of them, now—sparkling, his mouth lifted in a sleepy smile.

Xander stared at the piles of papers on his desk, which never seemed to get any smaller. Eventually, this abomination would be built. What plans would Wolfram &amp; Hart have for him then?

Suddenly, he wanted to climb into bed and curl up into wiry, chilly arms and cry his heart out.

 

3.

“Xander?”

“Hmm?” Xander traced his broad fingers down Spike’s side sleepily, as if he was checking to make sure all the ribs were there.

“Need to ask you something, yeah?”

“Ask.”

“Don’t get angry.”

Xander’s hand wandered lower, over the swell at the base of Spike’s back, finally stilling when it was cupping Spike’s buttock. “Did you scratch my Porsche?”

“What? No! Didn’t go near it.”

“Then I won’t get angry,” Xander said, and ran his tongue along Spike’s collar bone.

“’S about Peaches.”

Xander stopped playing with Spike’s nipple and looked up, a small frown creasing his brow. “Is he giving you a hard time again?”

Spike realized then something he probably ought to have realized months ago—the sudden turnaround in Angel’s treatment of him had been due to Xander’s intercession. “What—Xander, what did you do?”

Xander blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“How’d you make the pouf play nice?”

“I didn’t do anything, Spike. I just asked him to. I told him he was an idiot and didn’t understand you.”

Spike couldn’t help smiling a bit at that. He wished he’d been there. And Xander had stood up for him again. Had—

“Do you, Xan? Do you understand me?”

Xander sighed. “I don’t know. You tell me. I’m trying.”

This wasn’t the direction Spike had intended this conversation to go, but he had to know. “Tell me, then. Tell me about me. Please.”

Xander squeezed his arse and chuckled. “Okay. You’re demanding and occasionally annoying and the sexiest goddamn person I have ever met. And you’re strong—so fucking strong!—and brave and a lot more sensitive than you’re probably willing to admit. And you’re…adaptable. And caring.”

Spike swallowed thickly. “’M a demon, love. Demons aren’t caring.”

“You are. And you need to be needed, don’t you?”

Spike closed his eyes and bent his head against Xander’s chest and nodded. Xander moved his hand back up again and stroked small circles onto Spike’s back.

“You’re underappreciated. Always have been. You put up a mask, Spike, and nobody sees through it, sees the man behind it. He’s a good man.”

“Vampire,” Spike whispered against Xander’s skin.

“Yeah. And yet still a good man. You haven’t always listened to that part of you. I suppose he’s hard to hear over the demon sometimes. But he’s always there.”

Cold tears were slipping out of Spike’s closed lids, running down Xander’s chest.

“Chip, Xander. What makes you think I wouldn’t tear you to pieces without it?”

He steeled himself for an angry response, but Xander merely kissed his cheek. “Maybe you would.”

“Tried to kill you before.”

“Didn’t try all that hard, Spike. I’m still alive.” He kissed Spike again. “You’ve done some really bad things. Me too. Bad choices. Selfish ones, maybe. Given the chance, we’ll probably both do bad things again.” He laughed a little. “That’s only human, isn’t it?”

Spike raised his head and looked into those deep brown eyes. “Do you truly care for me, Xander?”

Xander smiled slightly. “Yeah, I really do.”

“Do you believe that I care for you?”

“Do you, Spike?”

Spike did his best to let his sincerity show in his face. He hadn’t seen himself in a century and a half; he wasn’t sure if he could still manage to look convincing about much of anything. So he willed Xander to see the truth in his next words: “Yeah. Yeah, Xander, I care for you.”

If he were being completely honest, he would have told Xander that he loved him. But the man could never believe that, so he gave him the closest truth he could.

Now it was Xander’s eyes that glistened with tears. “I haven’t…I haven’t heard that very often, you know?” His voice broke and Spike delicately licked the salty tracks from his cheek. And then they were kissing, deeply, desperately, their teeth clicking together and their lips squashed and their tongues dancing frantically across one another’s palates. At the same time, they ground against each other, their hardened cocks damp and hungry.

Xander pulled away first, panting. “What was the question?”

“Huh?” All of Spike’s brain cells were otherwise occupied, and he had no idea what Xander was talking about.

“The question. You said you wanted to ask something about Angel.”

Oh. Right.

Spike leaned back a little and put his hands on Xander’s shoulders. “You know…I told you once, about me and Angelus.”

“That you loved him?” Xander’s tone was even.

“Yeah.”

“Even though he treated you like shit.”

Spike sighed. “Yeah. He couldn’t help it, maybe. Angelus, you know?”

Xander nodded. “I know.”

“So he and I…we used to shag. A lot. This was back in the nineteenth century, love!” He said the last sentence very quickly, anxious that Xander understand he didn’t mean now.

But Xander laughed a bit and stroked Spike’s cheekbone. “I figured. I mean, vampires. And I didn’t exactly think you spent your first hundred years under a vow of chastity.”

“Not hardly.”

“So, you and Angelus fucked like bunnies. You expect me to get jealous of something that happened before my grandparents were born?”

“No, pet. It’s…now.” He took a deep breath. “He can hear us—you and me, yeah?—and smell us and sometimes see us, and I think it’s driving him mental. Because he’s all alone, isn’t he?”

Xander cocked his head at Spike. “Are you trying to ask for permission to have sex with Angel?”

“I…. Yeah. I am.” He couldn’t help wincing a bit in anticipation of the response.

But Xander was quiet for a long time, his gaze drawn inward. And then he nodded. “Okay.”

“Wha—What?”

“Okay. Go ahead. But only if you want to do it. Don’t let him pressure you.”

“He hasn’t—It’s all right? You’re not angry?” This wasn’t at all the response Spike had expected.

“You loved him a long, long time before I came onto the scene, Spike.”

“Yeah, but…but I belong to you.”

Xander sighed. “You do. If I could set you free, I would’ve, a long time ago. I’d have hoped you chose to stay anyway, because I want you with me, but I wouldn’t force you. And I’m not gonna force you to give up whatever you’ve got with Angel, either.”

Spike found himself speechless.

“See? It’s what I told you. You’re caring. You’re concerned about Angel, and honestly, so am I. You’re right—to go through what he has, and then have nobody to comfort him—that’s horrible. Comfort him. Comfort yourself. Be _happy_, Spike. That’s what I really want.”

Spike gaped a moment more and then threw himself against Xander, desperate to make him understand that despite what he wanted with Angel, he still wanted Xander. Needed him.

With inarticulate moans, with his hands and his lips, Spike set out to let Xander know he loved him.

 

4.

_Ring. Ring._

Damnit. It had better not be that idiot Meyers again. Because if Xander had to explain to him one more fucking time which forms needed to be in the Planning Department’s hot little hands by nine tomorrow morning, Xander was going to march down to Meyers’s office himself and jam a stapler up the moron’s ass.

“Yes?” he barked.

“Mr. Harris? This is Juanita, Mr. Holland’s PA.”

“Yes?” he repeated, a little more calmly.

“Mr. Holland said to let you know there’s a meeting you need to attend today at one o’clock. His office.”

Great. “Okay, thanks. One o’clock.”

Well, at least now he had something else to distract him from his work this morning, besides thoughts of what Spike and Angel might be doing this very minute. Those thoughts don’t spark any jealousy, surprisingly. He really did believe that Spike had feelings for him, and he wanted Spike to be happy. He even wanted Angel to be happy. Plus, those mental images of Spike and Angel together turned out to be pretty…diverting. Enough so that he hadn’t got much done today, and he’d actually been considering locking his door and having a nice, private conversation with Lesser Xander.

What the fuck did Holland want now?

 

5.

Angel wasn’t in the atrium, which surprised Spike. He’d more or less planned on catching him there, and instead he had to wander around the big house, searching for the tosser.

Ah, there he was. On his knees in front of the bookshelves in the study, looking at the titles on the next-to-bottom shelf. Seeing Angel kneeling like that made what Spike had intended to do a whole lot easier, at least.

Spike plopped himself down on the small brown sofa and simply stared at his grandsire. Angel glanced at him. “Hi, Spike,” he said. Oh, Spike it was today. Hmm.

“Hello, Angel,” he replied pleasantly enough.

Angel went back to perusing the books, and Spike just watched him. Followed the play of his heavy muscles as Angel reached and turned, the spots of sunlight falling on his pale skin from the room’s high windows. Examined from afar his thick, flaccid cock, his high, round bollocks, the hairless expanse of his rippled belly, the smooth curves of his arse. Spike inhaled, catching from across the room the familiar scent of him, slightly musky and earthy and dusty all at once. His own cock began to respond, growing stiff in his lap, the foreskin slowly retracting to reveal the sensitive crown tipped by a silver hoop.

Stifling a groan, Spike wrapped his hand around the shaft and began slowly fisting himself. He kept his eyes locked on Angel.

Eventually, Angel looked up. There was mild annoyance on his face until he saw what Spike was doing, and then his features went slack. “Spike,” he rumbled.

“Angel,” Spike purred back.

“What—Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Sire?” He saw Angel’s cock twitch at the title and begin to fill.

“Don’t tease.” This was more of a plea than a demand.

“’M not teasing.”

“Spike….” Angel was trying to threaten but it came out as more of a whine.

Spike slid off the couch onto all fours and began to slowly prowl across the tiles towards Angel. Angel grew completely hard, which was no surprise. He always had liked watching Spike crawl. His eyes were panicky, though, and he shot a glance toward the door. But Spike was blocking his way and, in fact, Spike now had him cornered, the big vampire still on his knees, his back up against the bookshelf.

Spike drew very, very close and then blew across Angel’s rigid organ.

“William!” Angel choked out. “Stop!”

Spike smiled sweetly at him. “You don’t look like you want me to stop at all. Sire.”

Angel held his hands out in front as if to block Spike. “Stop it! This isn’t funny, asshole!”

“Not joking, Sire,” Spike said and lightly nuzzled Angel’s smooth, hairless balls. Spike’s cock was dripping by now, giving little twitches as if it remembered the feel of the first male who’d touched him.

Angel tried uselessly to press himself back farther into the books. “I swear, Spike, I’m gonna—“

Spike licked quickly along Angel’s frenulum and Angel yelped. “You can’t do this!”

“Can,” Spike said with another stroke of his tongue. He waggled his arse for emphasis.

“But…Xander!” Angel choked.

“Said we could.” Slurp.

“Xander said—You’re lying!” Now his voice was cracked and high-pitched.

“’M not. Can ring him if you want to check. Phone’s right there.” He canted toward the desk with his hips.

Angel was actually panting now, his glans red and glistening. Spike smiled again and took it in his mouth. Angel put his hands on Spike’s head, probably with the intent to push him away, but within seconds he was gripping Spike’s hair instead and grunting softly.

Even after all this time, the taste and feel of him was familiar. Angel’s meaty crown rubbed against the roof of his mouth and Spike’s lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth.

He teased a bit, pulling his mouth almost off, and he chuckled when Angel bucked his pelvis forward to chase after him. The vibration of his throat must have felt nice, because then Angel thrust again and moaned.

Spike remembered what his grandsire liked. He nibbled gently against the tender skin, then stuck his tongue into the weeping slit. When he did it a second time, Angel gasped and cried his name, “William!”

Hearing that name, said that particular way, in that particular voice, made Spike nearly lose control of himself. He lurched upwards a bit and grabbed two handfuls of silky, muscular arse, held his breath, and swallowed Angel deeply.

“Fuck! William! God…Will…God!”

Spike hummed a little, just a subsonic sort of rumble, and Angel shouted his name once more and spilled down Spike’s throat in quaking, pulsing spurts.

Untouched, Spike’s cock jerked and he shot his cool seed over himself.

Angel collapsed down on his haunches and it took several minutes for them both to catch their breaths. As soon as they had, though, Angel grabbed Spike’s shoulders and drew him close for a long, demanding kiss.

When he pulled away, Angel stared at Spike in wonder. “What the hell was that?”

“Comfort, pet. Love. And a bloody nice blowjob.”

 

6.

_Ring. Ring._

Oh, what now? A direct summons to hell?

“What?!”

“Erm…Xander?”

“Spike! Is everything okay? What’s wrong? Jesus, they haven’t come and—“

“We’re fine, love. Everything’s fine.”

Xander heaved an enormous sigh of relief. Spike hadn’t called him before. Xander hadn’t specifically told him not to—in fact, he’d purposely programmed his number into speed dial. But vamps weren’t supposed to be making phone calls, and Xander wasn’t at all sure that Wolfram &amp; Hart didn’t listen in on his calls.

“What is it, then?”

“Can you please tell Captain Forehead that you said it was all right for us to shag?”

Oh, for Christ’s sake. Like he needed to deal with this today. “Fine. Put him on.”

“Ta, love.”

There was a brief pause and a small shuffling sound.

“Xander?”

“Hi, Angel.”

“Um, Spike said….”

“It’s fine. Shag. Shag away. Shag each other blind. I don’t care.”

“…Really?”

“Really. Look. You’re not…. I don’t like telling you what to do, believe it or not. I’d like you to have as much freedom as you can.”

“But you and Spike—“

“Yeah, well, you got there about 130 years before me, didn’t you?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“So go ahead, if that’s what you want. I can’t keep up with him anyway. Merely human here.”

“Okay.”

“Just… Angel?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t hurt him. Don’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to.”

It was Angel’s turn to sigh. “I won’t.”

“See ya tonight. Give him a kiss for me, okay?”

“Okay, Xander.”

He hung up the phone and shook his head at it. Crazy vampires. Then he tried to picture exactly what Spike did to prompt that call, and he smiled. Spike still had a nice streak of evil in him.

 

7.

“Told you.”

“Why? He…he really likes you, Spike.”

“That’s why. Wants me to be happy.”

“And this,”—he gestured back and forth between them—“this makes you happy?”

“Don’t I look happy?” Spike waved down at his cock, which was still damp but had already begun to harden again.

Angel’s glance flicked downward. “Um, yeah. But what about Xander?”

Spike sighed with exasperation. “I love him, you pillock. Even if neither of you would ever believe it.”

“Then why me, Spike? You’re not getting enough sex from him? Because you two seem to keep pretty busy at it.”

Spike resisted the urge to strangle the thick old tosser. “My man satisfies me, if that what you’re asking. He’s a bloody treat in the sack, actually. Hard to believe he’s only human.” Angel rolled his eyes. “And if he didn’t, I could do just fine with my own left hand, ta muchly.”

“Then _why_?”

Spike looked down at his feet. “Because…because I fucking love you, too, you big ponce.” He risked a glance upward, expecting an outburst of anger. Or worse, of laughter.

But Angel was merely staring at him, his eyes wide.

Spike looked down again and toed nervously at a grout line in the floor.

And then Angel stepped forward at vampire speed and grabbed his shoulders and nearly toppled him with the force of his kiss. For a moment, Spike stiffened, remembering Angelus and his games. But Angel was invading his mouth urgently, his breath panting through his nose like a race horse’s, and his hard length was pressed tightly against Spike.

With a sound between a moan and a cry, Spike wrapped his arms around the older vampire, bringing them so close together he was practically inside Angel’s skin. Angel dropped his hands down to Spike’s waist and it felt so bloody good to be enfolded in that embrace that Spike really did start crying. He buried his face in Angel’s neck in shame, but Angel only leaned his head against Spike’s and they stood like that a long time, rocking slightly together.

 

[Part 11b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/28317.html#cutid1)


	21. June 2016 (part 11b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 11b**_  
**Chapter Title:** June 2016 (part 11b)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Two-part chapter today. Spike is a little evil, the W&amp;H plot develops, and something awful happens to somebody (is that a tease or what?)   
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

****Today's chapter is in two parts** **

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
8.

It was five to one.

Xander hadn’t eaten lunch. He couldn’t have managed even if he’d tried—his stomach was tied in knots and his heart was beating so rapidly he seriously wondered if he was going into cardiac arrest.

No such luck.

Like a man going to his execution, he trudged down the hall to the elevator, then pressed the button for the top floor.

Juanita greeted him with a smile when he got off. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harris. Mr. Manners is ready for you. Please go on in.”

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Xander! So glad you could make it!” Holland grinned at him and pumped his hand as if this were a party instead of an compelled appearance at a meeting. “Let me introduce you.”

“They’ve all already met, Holland.”

This was Lilah. She was wearing a red suit and smiling in a way that reminded Xander of an alligator. Lots of predatory teeth. Three of those demons were standing next to her, the black-caped ones he’d seen in the hallway. The tallest of them stepped forward and held out its hand. “Tho nithe to thee you again, Mithter Harrith.”

Xander shook the hand and Holland came close and clapped him on the back. “This boy is a real rising star here at the firm. Maybe one day he’ll be sitting in this office! After I’m retired, of course.” He chuckled loudly and Xander tried to smile.

Holland stepped to the door. “Well, my friends. Are we ready to get this show on the road? I think we’re anxiously awaited.”

Everybody left the office and Holland led them to the elevator. Xander wasn’t feeling at all happy about this, and his mood didn’t improve one bit when Holland pressed the button labeled “LL.” Why the hell were they going to the basement?

Nobody spoke during the ride down, although Holland hummed along with the Muzak version of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.”

They alit in a different section than where Xander had been before, the one and only time he’d been down there. That led to such unpleasant memories that he shivered. Lilah noticed and her smile cranked up a notch.

The floor here was tiled in well-worn, greenish vinyl, and the walls were battleship gray. Fluorescent lights flickered sickly overhead. Holland walked them down a long, empty corridor, and then stopped in front of an unmarked door. He keyed in his code and the door slid open. He stood at the doorway, waiting for everyone to enter. The queasy feeling in Xander’s stomach intensified, and he seriously considered asking whether there was a bathroom nearby.

But Holland pressed a button and the door slid shut behind them.

They were in a small, plain room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were white. Half a dozen folding chairs were arrayed in front of a large orange curtain.

Holland stood beside the curtain, where there was a small control panel, and pressed a button. The curtains slid back, revealing a window into a dark room. Then Holland pressed another button, and a single, glaring light went on inside the room.

All the air left Xander’s lungs, and for a moment, he couldn’t remember how to get more in.

Lindsey McDonald was in the room.

He was hanging by his wrists from chains suspended from the ceiling. His knees had buckled beneath him and his head was hanging so far down that Xander could barely see his face. He was wearing the remains of one of his expensive suits. There was a large stain across the crotch of the pants and down the inside of one leg. His jacket was gone, his tie was there but considerably loosened, and his shirt had been torn open. He had no shoes or socks, and his ankles were attached to short chains that were anchored to the floor. Lines of dried blood ran down from his wrists, as if he’d struggled enough against his bonds to tear his skin.

Xander realized he hadn’t seen or heard from the man since Friday—four days ago—and he wondered how long he had been dangling there.

Aside from the lawyer, the room was pretty empty. The walls and floor were unadorned cement, and there was a drain right underneath Lindsey. That one light was above him. There was one door, and it had no knob, no visible way to open it from inside at all. A hose was attached to a faucet and curled on a hook on one wall. Against the opposite wall was a steel box, about the size of a coffin, only not as long. It appeared to have a lid that could swing open, but which was currently secured by a heavy lock.

With a sudden sick start, Xander recognized this room. He’d seen it hundreds of times before—in the blueprints for the portal project. There were a dozen rooms exactly like this, including the built-in metal box. Their viewing windows were to be wired for a very serious electrical field, one that would give a near-fatal jolt to anyone who touched the glass from inside. The glass was to be specially reinforced as well. The rooms were backed by a corridor that led to the holding cells.

Jesus. What were they planning?

But Xander’s thoughts were interrupted as Holland motioned everybody to sit down and then began talking.

“Well. As you know, we have some exciting plans for the project. Initially we’d intended to send human prisoners as a labor source. But humans, as you know, have their shortcomings.” The demons laughed. So did Lilah.

“Yes. They’re weak and messy and hard to maintain, and they get hurt so easily. And even if they don’t, they soon grow old and useless.”

Oh, fuck. Xander had an idea where this was headed.

“So we re-evaluated and improved our strategy. Prisoners will still be exported, of course, but with rather significant improvements. We’re going to turn them to vampires first.”

The demons murmured excitedly among themselves in their own language and Xander bit back a cry. Holland smiled beatifically.

When the demons quieted, he continued. “Now, there are a few minor stumbling blocks. We will have to get some new legislation, but we have some good friends in the legislatures, and Ms. Morgan has been working closely with them. We believe everything will be neatly in place by the time construction is completed. Which will be when, Xander?”

Xander jumped at being addressed. “Uh, December of next year, if everything goes smoothly.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will, son.”

Smoothly, sure. The man was planning the biggest mass murder since the Holocaust, and Xander was going to make it possible for them. Well, he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He might have to work for them, but they couldn’t force him to do this.

Holland winked at him as if he knew exactly what Xander was thinking.

“I wanted to give a little demonstration of exactly how this process will work. Thing was, we needed a subject who was appropriately…deserving. And then Mr. McDonald appeared, right under our noses.”

Xander was biting his lip. What could he do? Argue with Holland? Wouldn’t do any good. Try to rescue Lindsey? That would only get him nabbed by security, and he didn’t even like the slimy bastard. Call for help? Call who?

He was fucked.

Lindsey was even more fucked.

Holland flicked a switch and said, “Lindsey, my boy! Wake up!”

Through an intercom, Xander heard Lindsey groan. His head lifted as he tried to get his feet underneath him. His face looked almost as bad as the time Xander had clocked him—one eye was puffy and purple, and his lip was split.

Holland looked at him for a moment, frowning slightly, then turned back to address the others. “Lindsey has been an excellent employee for a long time. I recruited him myself, you know, back when he was nothing but a starving student without two coins to rub together. He had such potential! I really thought he’d go far, do great things.

“But lately, the boy’s been…slipping. I’ve been less than pleased with the quality of his work. He’s allowed himself some distractions, I think. And then, just recently, he’s become downright disrespectful, I’m afraid. He’s become more of an impediment than an asset.”

Holland sounded sad, like a father whose son had sorely disappointed him. Then he perked up. “But it turns out that Lindsey can still make a contribution to the firm after all.”

Lindsey squinted at the glass, swaying slightly on his feet. “Holland?” he said. His voice was scratchy and rough. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I’m afraid I do. It’s a shame, I know, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.”

“Holland! You son of a bitch! You can’t do this! All those people. All those fuckin’ human beings and you’re gonna—“

Holland flipped the switch again and there was silence. They could still see Lindsey’s mouth moving, but that was all. “That’s enough of that, I think. He’s gotten so far away from the program.”

Is that what Lindsey did to piss Holland off? Had he tried to put a stop to Wolfram &amp; Hart’s plans? Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Now Holland pressed another button. “We’re ready here,” he said.

Lilah turned and smirked at Xander as the demons conversed with each other. Holland stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled and watched Lindsey struggle uselessly.

Xander fought to keep his face neutral while a war waged inside his head. He was being a fucking coward. He knew he was being a fucking coward. But what could he do? He had no way to help Lindsey, and anything he did do would end up getting himself in trouble, too. Maybe hanging there next. And while maybe Xander was willing to martyr himself for Lindsey, even though it was Lindsey’s own damn fault that Xander was in this position to begin with, then what would happen to Spike and Angel?

As his internal conflict raged, the door behind Lindsey opened. A man in a suit entered, leading two vampires on leashes. They were both very tall and muscular. One of them had a really nasty-looking scar running across his torso, and Xander wondered for a moment what had happened to the guy when he was still alive. Both of them were wearing muzzles.

Lindsey tried to twist his body around to see them better but they ignored him and walked to the box. The man took a key out of his pocket and unlocked it, then lifted the lid. He messed around with something inside for a few seconds. He stepped back and said something to the vampires. They approached the box and lifted something out.

It was another vampire.

It had been a man, once, probably in his mid-twenties when he was turned. Handsome, maybe. Now, three of his limbs were gone, leaving not even scars in their stead. He still had one arm, although the hand was missing, and the whole thing flopped about in a sickening way that suggested that the bones had been removed. His penis and scrotum had been cut off as well. He had a ball gag in his mouth and he fought weakly against the vampires that were holding him. He was very, very thin. Skeletal.

He had pretty eyes. Green and slightly tilted, a little like a cat.

Holland flipped the intercom switch. “Bring it closer.”

The tall vampires carried him over and held him near the window. His eyes caught Xander’s and he stared desperately, imploringly. Xander looked away.

“Obviously, in order to effect our plans, we will need quite a few starter vampires. And they will have to specially modified. They can’t have the inhibitor chip installed, of course, because they need to be able to bite the prisoners. So as you can see, we’ve taken several steps to ensure that they don’t constitute any threat.”

The head demon spoke. “You keep it in the bokth when you are not uthing it?”

“Exactly. We’re considering having their eyes removed as well. And permanently destroying the eardrums. What do you think of that idea?”

“They do not need to thee, do they? I think it ith an ekthellent idea. More thecure.”

Holland smiled and nodded. Once again he flipped the switch. “All right. Get on with it. And I think I’ll keep the sound on, shall I?”

The demons—and Lilah—murmured their assent.

The vampires carried the legless creature to the human, who removed his gag. The mutilated vampire immediately began howling and garbling unintelligibly, and Xander realized that his tongue had been removed. It sounded as if he was begging, though.

As they brought him behind Lindsey, the lawyer thrashed frantically, sending new rivulets of blood down his arms. “No! No!” he screamed. “Don’t fuckin’ do this to me, you bastard. I’ll get you. Xander! Xander, please don’t—God, please, don’t—“

Xander abruptly realized he was standing, although he had no recollection of doing so. Holland smiled at him, his glittering eyes an unspoken warning. Clearly, he’d brought Xander to watch this for a purpose. For a lesson. For a cautionary tale.

The two vampires held the third one up against Lindsey’s back. Lindsey tried to push them away, but then the unchipped vampire morphed into gameface and struck, sinking his fangs deeply into Lindsey’s carotid artery.

Lindsey screamed and shook.

Xander discovered that he’d backed himself against the door.

As Lindsey’s movements started to become sluggish, he twisted his head around a little so that he could look straight at Xander. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m sorry, Xan.”

The man in the suit walked around and pulled a knife from his jacket. Quickly and efficiently he grabbed the feeding vampire’s arm, sliced the blade into it, and then held the wrist against Lindsey’s mouth. Lindsey tried to turn away, but clearly didn’t have the strength anymore. Xander saw him swallow several times.

The man pulled the arm away.

The vampire was still drinking, and now Lindsey wasn’t moving at all. His legs had collapsed and he hung by his arms. His eyes dimmed.

And then Xander knew he was dead.

The tall vampires pulled the feeding one away, leaving a large, bloodless gash in Lindsey’s throat. The vampire struggled more forcefully now, but he had neither the strength nor the leverage to do more than wiggle in the others’ grips. He made a horrible choking noise as the man shoved the gag back in his mouth. Then the vampires carried him to the box. The man did something inside—strapped the miserable creature in, probably—and then shut and locked the cage. He commanded the others to Kneel and they did.

The man walked back to Lindsey and used his knife to cut the clothes off of the corpse. Xander blinked back tears at the sight of the pale, still form. He remembered what Lindsey had looked like in the hotel in London, tanned and powerful and vital. Remembered the feel of the man’s tight, warm channel gripping his cock.

The man in the suit removed an iron collar from his breast pocket and locked it around the torn neck. Then he snapped his fingers at the slaves and grabbed their leashes, and they all left.

Holland took a long, smiling look at the room and then turned out the light and drew the curtains.

Lilah’s face was flushed and she was breathing heavily, and her lips were stretched in her widest, most obscene smile yet.

“So, what did you think?”

“Mithter Mannerth, that wath very entertaining. Thith ith the prothedure you will uthe on the thlaveth?”

“Yes.”

“How long until it ith ready for thervithe?”

“Well, it will rise tomorrow night. It’ll be taken then to the labs and a chip and feeding port will be installed, and we’ll do a few other minor modifications. Then it will need some initial training, but it will be ready to go within two weeks.”

“And how many can you protheth per day?”

“Initially, we can start with fifty to a hundred. Our labs are perfecting a method now of draining the chipless vampires immediately after they feed, so that they can feed again right away. We’re estimating each one can turn about ten prisoners a day. Of course, if the demand warrants it, we can always increase the number of chipless vampires, and then our capacity would increase.”

“Very imprethive. Perhapth we could go thomewhere more comfortable to dithcuth termth in more detail.”

“Outstanding. I’d be delighted.” He turned and looked at Xander. “I’m sure you have a lot of work to do son, so you’re welcome to go.”

Xander nodded mutely. Holland walked over and pressed some buttons that caused the door to slide open. As Xander was exiting, though, he laid a hand on his shoulder. “By the way, son, you’ll be working with Lilah directly now.”

Xander nodded again and took off at a near run.

He found the elevator and stumbled inside, then pressed the button for his floor. Before he got to his office, though, he stopped at the bathroom. He fumbled the lock closed and then puked into the toilet.

 

9.

Xander practically fell through the door, looking more dead than alive. More dead than the two actually dead beings who stared at him in shock.

“Xan? Xander? What’s wrong, love?”

“Drink. For God’s sake, get me a drink.”

Spike turned to shoot a pleading look at Angel, but Angel was already hurrying into the kitchen. Spike took Xander’s briefcase out of his lax hand and dropped it gently on the floor, then grabbed his elbow and led him to the nearest chair. Angel appeared seconds later with a tumbler very full of scotch. Xander gave him a grateful look and then drained the glass in one long draught. Without a word, Angel took it from him and went back for a refill.

Spike, meanwhile, sat at Xander’s feet and pulled off his shoes and socks, then began deftly massaging his feet. Xander groaned appreciatively and emptied the tumbler a second time, but this time he placed it on the small table next to him when he was done. Angel perched uncertainly on another chair.

Spike was about to ask Xander what was wrong when Xander’s breath hitched. He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing.

Spike rose to his knees and flung his arms around Xander and murmured soothing nothings into his skin. When the crying didn’t stop, Angel came over, too, and patted Xander’s back a bit awkwardly.

Eventually, Xander quieted and collapsed backward in his chair. His eyes were red and old. Old like Angel’s were sometimes, and that wasn’t right for a bloke who hadn’t yet approached forty.

“Can I get you something, love? Something to drink? Some dinner?”

Xander shook his head miserably. “No. Not hungry.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it, Spike. Thank you. Thank you both. Sorry for the meltdown.”

Spike climbed into Xander’s lap and slung one arm around his shoulders. He rested his head against him, listening to the strong heartbeat. Strong.

“Can I tell you about my day? I have to talk to someone about this. I’m going fucking crazy.”

“Of course, love. We’ll listen.”

Xander pressed a quick kiss against Spike’s head. “Thanks. It’s kind of a long story. You know some of this already, Spike, but some of it’s new. Fuck.”

It was a long story. He told of Wolfram &amp; Hart’s plans to open a portal to export slaves, and of a prophecy that seemed to concern him. He said he’d suspected for some time that the firm’s motives were even more sinister than they’d admitted, and he mentioned Lindsey’s recent strange behavior, and the delegations of demons from another world. And today he’d learned exactly what his employers intended to do, and he’d had to watch as Lindsey was killed and turned.

He talked for hours, and Spike was eventually able to persuade him to eat a sandwich.

Angel and Spike said very little. Angel’s mouth was a hard, white line, though, and Spike felt furious as well. Not because of the scheme to turn human prisoners into vampire slaves—he didn’t care about any of that. And not because of what had happened to that tosser Lindsey. He had it coming and then some. What made Spike want to bite someone was what they were doing to Xander—his Xander. Stealing his soul wasn’t enough. Now they were trying to ruin him as well.

The one thing Xander didn’t mention was the contract. When he was done speaking, and his eyes were closed with exhaustion, Spike and Angel exchanged a glance. Then Spike said, “Why don’t you just leave?”

“I can’t, Spike. I want to—God, how I want to—but I can’t.”

“Why not, love?”

Xander ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Spike wanted to scream with frustration.

“Pet, I—“

“Forget it. Drop it.”

“Well, can I help somehow? Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“Come upstairs with me and let me fuck you until I can’t think anymore.”

Despite everything, Spike’s cock twitched with interest. Well, at least he was still good for one thing. He looked at Angel, who shrugged. What else could a pair of neutered vampires do?

[Part 12](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/28888.html#cutid1)


	22. December 2016 (part 12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 12**_  
**Chapter Title:** December 2016 (part 12)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Today the boys surprise each other.

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
****

DECEMBER 2016

 

1.

It was an unusually rainy December. Wettest on record, they said. Which meant that construction was delayed and Lilah and Holland were upset, but Xander was happy. No more spending twelve hours a day at the site. Instead, he put in a respectable eight hours at the office and then headed home to a good dinner and a massage and a horny vampire. And until the next morning, he didn’t have to think about Wolfram &amp; Hart.

Then Holland called him a week before Christmas and told him he might as well take the next two weeks off. The crews wouldn’t be working anyway, even if the weather was clear, and Xander hadn’t had a vacation since he joined the firm.

He wanted to whoop with joy. At least he managed to wait until he’d hung up.

He sat at his desk for several minutes, thinking. Finally, with a smile on his face, he made a couple more calls, and then headed home.

Even with his human nose, he could smell the sex in the air when he entered the living room. The vampires had been fucking in front of the fireplace again. He didn’t care. He was pleased about it, actually. The sex had relaxed Angel considerably and only seemed to get Spike even more revved up for Xander when he got home. Plus, when his day got too rotten, he liked to pause for a moment and try to imagine exactly what the two of them were up to that moment, and where.

Oh, they did other things, too. Spike continued to take his housevamp duties seriously, cleaning and cooking and generally running the house. He played a lot of Wii, too, and read, and surfed the net. Sometimes he ordered new toys for Xander to use with him, and that was always a fun surprise.

Angel read and took care of the atrium garden. He drew, too. Xander had found a small sketch of Spike buried under the newspaper one evening, and when he discovered that Angel had made it, he’d ordered the vampire a large assortment of papers and pens and things. Angel mostly sketched portraits of Spike, some of them in such deliciously provocative poses that just looking at them got Xander instantly hard. But sometimes he’d draw Xander, too, or Xander and Spike together. Xander had actually had one of his favorites of these framed, and it hung on their bedroom wall. In the picture, Xander was sitting on the couch, the remote control in his hand, looking down at his lap with a pleased little grin. Spike was sprawled lengthwise on the couch, his head in Xander’s lap and a book in his hands. Angel seemed genuinely happy that Xander admired his work. He even smiled, sometimes.

On clear nights the three of them would go for long walks, up a little farther into the hills, where Xander could take off the vampires’ leashes and they could wander freely for a short while.

It was a good enough life. It couldn’t last forever. It wouldn’t. But Xander had never been as contented at home as he was now.

Spike flew out of nowhere and flung himself against Xander, and if that had happened seventeen years ago, Xander would so be toast. Now, though, he was just slightly breathless under the onslaught of eager vampire.

“Home early today,” Spike muttered into his ear.

“Want me to go back to the office, then?”

Spike mock-growled and nipped very delicately at the skin under Xander’s ear. Xander wished the teeth could be a little sharper, the bite a little harder. Jesus, look what had become of him, yearning to become vampire food!

Spike was hard already, humping lightly into Xander’s crotch. Then he started stripping Xander’s clothes off. In recent months, Xander had got in the habit of wandering around the house nude. It had begun when he’d headed to and from the pool and Jacuzzi, because even if he’d bothered with swim trunks, Spike would have had them off right away anyway. And then he thought, what was his hurry to get dressed? The rest of the household was naked, of course, and when he wore clothes, it underscored that he was the master and they were his slaves. Which was something he preferred not to think about. So, much to Spike’s delight, the clothing had become extremely optional. Angel had done sort of an embarrassed double-take the first few times, but then Xander had caught the big vampire surreptitiously checking him out. He’d successfully hidden his smile.

As soon as Xander’s clothes were pooled at his feet, Spike reattached himself to Xander’s torso and rocked into him again. He cupped the back of Xander’s head and pressed his lips to Xander’s for a long, intense kiss that left Xander breathless and slightly dizzy.

Finally, Xander pulled away a little. “Jeez, Spike, can I at least get in the door before you jump my bones?”

“Why? We could shag in the garage, too.”

“Cold, hard floor.”

“I could order us a rubber mat thing. And a space heater.”

“Or we could just wait until I’m inside, maybe in the vicinity of some nice, soft furniture.”

“Mmm,” Spike nuzzled against Xander’s neck, in the spot that he knew drove Xander crazy.

“What’s your hurry, anyway? Weren’t you and Angel just at it? Don’t you ever get tired?”

“That was Angel. Now it’s you, pet.” Spike pulled his head back and smirked a little. “Is that why you’re home early? Hoping to catch a show?”

Xander was going to deny it, but he knew Spike felt his cock jerk at the suggestion, and besides, the vampire probably smelled the small wave of lust that crashed over him.

Spike’s smirk grew. “You like that idea, don’t you, pet? Xander Harris, you’ve got more kinks than I’d expected.”

Xander laughed. “I never did until I started sleeping with you. You’re a corrupting influence.”

“Vampire. Have to be evil somehow.”

“Oh, you’re definitely evil,” Xander said, squeezing Spike’s eminently squeezable ass. “So evil, maybe I shouldn’t give you the surprise.”

“Surprise?” Spike tilted his head and his eyes glittered, and for a second he reminded Xander of a very intelligent bird.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What?”

“If I tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Could make you tell me,” Spike threatened, grasping Xander’s stiff cock and slowly pumping it.

Xander moaned, then batted the hand away. “How about if you stop molesting me and give me a few minutes to get ready, and then I can show you instead?”

Spike made a small pout, but stepped away. “All right then. But hurry it up.”

Xander swatted his ass as he walked by. “Hurrying.”

He dashed up the stairs and to their bedroom, where he threw some clothes in a suitcase. He threw some clothes on himself, too. Then he ran back down. Spike was sitting in one of the living room chairs and his eyebrow lifted when he saw the luggage. “Running away from home, love?”

“Yep,” Xander grinned. “And I’m taking you with me. Where’s Angel?”

“Atrium, I expect.”

“Can you go get him while I put this in the car, please?”

By the time Spike and Angel returned, the suitcase was stowed in the Escalade and Xander was holding their leashes. “Ready to go?”

Angel looked at Spike, who shrugged. “Where are we going?”

“Surprise, Angel. You’ll like it. C’mon.”

They all piled into the SUV—Xander and Spike in front, Angel in the seat behind them. It always unsettled Xander a little how he could hear Angel talk when they went for drives, but couldn’t see him in the mirror.

Spike fiddled with the radio, apparently trying to find music that would cause Angel to huff the loudest in annoyance. Sometimes Xander sang along, and Spike would grin wickedly at him while Angel huffed even louder.

After about half an hour, Spike settled his hand on Xander’s knee. “Love?”

“Hmm?” It always gave him a tiny thrill when Spike called him that, even though he knew it was a meaningless endearment.

“Are you really running away?” His voice was soft, a little plaintive.

“Just for a short while. Holland gave me a vacation.”

Spike sighed. “Oh.”

“I told you, I can’t. And I don’t want to talk about why and I don’t want to have this conversation at all. Why don’t you take a nap? You’ll need some rest for tonight.”

Spike perked up a little. “Have something planned, have you?”

Xander just smiled at him.

Spike did eventually fall asleep, and so did Angel. Xander drove for hours, stopping once to fill the SUV’s tank and empty his, and also to grab a burger. It was dark by the time he finally pulled in at their destination. Spike woke up and blinked sleepily. “Where are we?”

Xander turned off the engine. “Home, for ten days.”

They all fell out of the car, stretching and groaning. All three of them looked around. They were parked in front of a smallish wooden house. All around them, nothing else was visible except forest, and, up in the sky, a zillion stars.

Xander pulled his suitcase out of the back. “The firm owns this place. And about forty acres of trees. We’re pretty much surrounded by national forest here, no other houses for miles. I don’t even want to think about why they need a place that’s so isolated, but it’s perfect for us, anyway. And the windows are necrotinted, even.”

Spike and Angel were still looking curiously around them. “Why’d you bring us here, love? Thought you liked the ocean.”

“I do. But here, you guys don’t need leashes or any of that crap. You can walk around wherever you want—well, after sundown, anyway.” They both looked at him, slightly stunned. “The house is supposed to be nice. Hot tub out back, I’m told. And a decent kitchen. I’ll have to go into town to get some food for me, but I’ve brought a cooler full of blood for you. If you need it.”

Angel frowned. “What do you mean, if we need it?”

“There are animals here, Angel. Deer, mostly, but bears, too, and maybe a cougar or two.”

“So?”

“I thought maybe you two would like to do some hunting.”

Both vampires grew very still, their eyes round.

“I mean, you don’t have to. We could just hang out and watch movies or something. But, um, I thought maybe—“

“Love? We can do this?”

“Yeah. I know it’s not the same, but I thought it was better than—“ Xander couldn’t finish the sentence because Spike had launched himself against him and engaged his mouth in an extremely enthusiastic kiss.

It was cold out. Xander managed to extricate himself, and they trooped into the house. There was a large great room with a huge fireplace and comfortable looking furniture; the kitchen and eating area were off to one side. A sliding glass door was on the opposite end of the room, and it led to a deck with the promised hot tub. There was a set of open stairs, which they climbed. Upstairs were two big bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. Both bedrooms contained vampire-sized cages as well, and Xander scowled at that but then ignored them. He dumped his suitcase in one of the rooms.

They went back down where they checked out the well-equipped entertainment center. Spike banged around in the kitchen and then wrote Xander a shopping list for the morning. The house was equipped with a satellite, which meant lots of television channels and internet access besides.

By the time they’d explored the whole house, both vampires were thrumming with barely suppressed excitement. Xander laughed at them. “Go!” he said. “I’m gonna crash for a while.”

Spike gave him another long kiss.

As they were almost out the door, though, Xander stopped them. “Hey, are you gonna be warm enough? It’s pretty cold out there.”

“Vampires don’t get frostbite, love.”

“No, but they do feel cold and then they whine about it and crawl into bed with you like blocks of ice and try to steal your body heat.”

Spike tried to pull off an innocent look and failed. “I’ll take a hot shower when I get back, all right?”

“You could borrow my clothes, you know. Nobody will see.”

Angel came closer and put a large hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Xander. We’d only get them dirty. We’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself. Have fun.” Spike gave him a wave and they left.

For a while, Xander watched tv. But pretty soon the long drive caught up with him and he fell fast asleep on the couch.

He was awakened by the sound of the door opening. The vampires entered, and they were quite a sight—filthy, twigs and leaves in their hair, covered in numerous small scratches, dried blood on their faces and torsos. They were in game face, their fangs sparkling in wide smiles.

“Didja have fun, kids?” he asked sleepily, wondering what time it was.

Spike stalked over, every inch a predator, and grabbed his arm. “Come have a soak, Xan. I’ll tell you all about it.”

A dip in the hot tub with a naked, dirty vampire sounded just about right to Xander.

 

2.

Xander was gone getting groceries when Spike woke up. He stood and stretched luxuriously, feeling the twinge of pleasantly sore muscles. Some were sore form the hunt, and some from the celebratory shag that followed. He wasn’t sure which had felt better, sinking his fangs into a warm, breathing creature, or feeling a warm, breathing man sink into him.

He ambled downstairs, where he found Angel slumped contentedly by the fire, watching the History Channel. He snorted softly. Old git liked to talk back at the telly, telling the program when it got the details wrong about things he’d seen firsthand. Angel looked happy. Not perfectly happy, thankfully. Spike did not want Angelus as a housemate again.

Angel actually smiled at him as he collapsed onto the couch.

“That was bloody brilliant last night, yeah?”

“I’d forgotten how good deer tastes.”

“Face it, mate. Anything straight from the vein is good now. Probably even your sodding rats.”

Angel frowned at him, but his heart wasn’t in it and he gave up. “Yeah.”

“I was thinking we ought to give Xander a proper thank you.”

Angel regarded him skeptically. “What did you have in mind, Spike?”

Spike grinned. “I have an idea.” And he told him.

 

3.

For several nights, the vampires went out hunting while Xander slept. Then Spike would shower and slide into bed beside him, his eyes still slightly wild. They’d have sex—fast, a little rough, yet somehow tender, too—and then Xander would sleep a while longer.

Angel and Spike slept until early afternoon, while Xander exercised—he’d found a stationary bike and some hand weights tucked into a storage area—and watched tv. He studiously did not think about work. He didn’t check his emails or talk to a solitary person, other than his roomies. He napped. It had been months since he had enough sleep.

When Spike woke up, he’d tell him about the previous night’s hunt. Mostly, they’d found deer. One night, though, Spike had come home with four really nasty-looking gashes across his chest. Bear claw marks. They’d almost completely healed by morning because Spike was feeding so well. Xander was kind of sorry he hadn’t been able to see that altercation—it must have been a good battle.

Angel would join them eventually and they’d all putter around the house a while. Xander had picked up some paper and pens at the store when he’d bought groceries, and Angel was drawing a lot. Spike. Xander. The forest. Scenes from their hunts.

Toward nightfall, Spike would fix Xander some dinner and the vampires would sit with him while he ate, Spike occasionally snagging a bite or two from his plate. Angel was relaxed, open almost, and he and Spike shared a lot of their old adventures with him. Most of them involved blood and mayhem, of course, but Xander enjoyed listening anyway, seeing the animation in both of their faces as they spoke. He filled them in on the boring details of his adult life. He showed them a picture of Beth’s kids—twin girls—that she’d e-mailed him recently. Spike was surprised—he hadn’t even known Xander had been married.

After the kitchen was cleaned up, Spike would plant a lingering kiss on Xander’s lips, and then they’d leave him to hunt again. He’d watch tv for a while and then turn in.

A week after they arrived, Xander went back down the mountain for more food. There had been some flurries the night before but it was now clear, and the snow sparkled brightly in the sun. He dutifully bought everything on his list—why on earth did Spike want capers? What, exactly, were capers, anyway?—and returned to the cabin.

His arms were full as he entered, so it took him a moment before he noticed the scene in front of the fireplace. When he did, he almost dropped the bags.

A thick blanket had been spread out on the polished wood floor. Both vampires were on their knees, Angel’s taller, broader body behind Spike’s wiry one. Angel’s hands were gripping Spike’s hips and his face was nuzzling into his neck. Spike, meanwhile, had his head thrown back on Angel’s shoulder, his lids half-closed and his full lower lip caught between his teeth. He was languidly fisting himself while the two of them writhed together, Angel flexing his strong hips against Spike’s ass. The firelight flickered off their pale, smooth skin.

“Guh,” said Xander.

Obviously, they’d heard him return, and equally obviously, they didn’t care.

Spike opened his eyes all the way and gave him a slow, honeyed smile. “Join us, love?”

Xander had forgotten how to speak. He dumped the bags on the counter with a thud and then tottered toward them like a sleepwalker.

Angel watched him, nibbling on Spike’s shoulder, his brown eyes shining.

When Xander was very close, Spike said, “Clothes, Xan.”

With a brief speculation on whether these two were capable of thrall, Xander kicked off his shoes and then quickly shucked his clothing. Without stopping what his left hand was doing, Spike held out his right, beckoning him closer.

As soon as Xander was within reach, Spike started licking his already-weeping cock like a lollipop, while Angel shifted his hold from Spike’s hips to Xander’s. Spike clutched at Xander’s thighs.

Xander looked down and saw Spike’s light brown curls bobbing at his groin and Angel’s thick sex disappearing between Spike’s taut globes and then reappearing, red and glistening. Slightly hesitantly, Xander laid his hands on Angel’s shoulders. Angel grinned up at him, looking, for a moment, pretty Angelusy.

Xander refused to think. Thinking was bad. If he thought he was going to wonder what the hell he was doing, and then he might stop, and he didn’t want to. He so didn’t want to.

Spike took the head of Xander’s cock into his moist, cool mouth, running his tongue around it and then into the slit. He rolled his eyes up, gazing at Xander, and Xander could see the lust and mirth sparkling in the blue pools. Somehow, being doubly penetrated like this, he looked more like the old Spike, the big bad, than he had since Xander had found him. The small part of Xander’s brain that was still functioning realized why: Spike was in charge. Right now, he was getting exactly what he wanted. The sneaky little bastard had orchestrated this, and Xander might be angry, except it felt so goddamn good. And besides, what Spike wanted right now happened to be exactly what Xander wanted, too.

Spike took Xander’s cock in deeper, eliciting a throaty moan.

Meanwhile, Angel shifted his hands slightly until they were on Xander’s ass, and he kneaded the heavy muscles with his strong hands.

Xander wasn’t going to last long. It wasn’t just the wonderful suction on his cock, nor the deft massage of his buttocks. It was also the sight of Angel fucking Spike, and of Angel watching Spike blow Xander. Angel’s eyes were dark and glittering.

Spike swallowed Xander to the root. Xander moaned again, and Angel started pumping into Spike harder and faster, and Spike quickened his own hand to match the pace and vibrated his throat around Xander, and Xander rocked his hips urgently, and Angel dug in his fingers almost hard enough to risk his chip firing.

With a muffled cry, Spike came, spraying sticky droplets onto Xander’s legs. It caused a chain reaction: Angel juddered against Spike and smothered a howl into the crook of Spike’s neck, and then Xander cried out too—“Jesus…fuck…fuck!!”—and rammed his spurting cock into Spike’s unresisting mouth.

With a groan that might have come from any of them, or maybe all three, they collapsed in a tangled heap onto the blanket. Xander tried hard to catch his breath, strangely satisfied to hear the vampires panting, too.

Spike licked Xander’s ear. “Knew you’d like that. Both you dirty buggers like to watch.”

Nearly in unison, Xander and Angel swatted Spike’s ass, which only made him laugh.

“You set us up!” Xander accused.

“Oi! Peaches was in on it, too.”

Xander might not have believed him, except Angel had a perfectly smug look on his face.

“I’m not complaining, guys. Believe me—not complaining. But why?”

Spike gave him a loud, wet smooch. “Happy Christmas, love.”

 

[Part 13](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/29332.html#cutid1)


	23. April 2017 (part 13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 13**_  
**Chapter Title:** April 2017 (part 13)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

Finally, a little honest communication.

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
**APRIL 2017**

 

1.

Xander dreaded the first Monday of the month. It wasn’t that he had anything against Mondays in principle, although he’d have much rather stayed at home with his vampires. But on the first Mondays he had to go into the office instead of to the job site, and then he had to give a presentation to Lilah on the status of the project.

Man, he hated that bitch.

He hated how she’d stalk into his office, often dragging a pathetic slave behind her. He hated how she’d perch on his desk like she owned it, and then run her eyes over him like she owned _him_. He hated how she’d demand information in clipped, impatient tones, interrupting him frequently and narrowing her eyes at anything she didn’t want to hear. He hated how she’d make veiled—and sometimes not so veiled—threats about what might happen if the project wasn’t completed on time. And he hated how she’d get up and touch him on the shoulder or the arm or even on the face before stalking out again.

He’d made it clear to her he wasn’t interested. He’d even made sure to mention several times that he was gay with a capital G, but she obviously didn’t give a shit.He wasn’t sure what she was after. She wasn’t trying to seduce him into compliance the way Lindsey had. No need for that anymore, and, besides, he would never have been seduced by the likes of her. Maybe it was one of the little power games she liked to play. All he knew was that he had to restrain himself from slapping her every time.

Some first Mondays were even worse, because Holland would show up, too. As much as Xander detested Lilah’s crap, he vastly preferred it to Holland’s smiling, genial malice.

So Xander was in a piss-poor mood as he parked his Porsche in the garage and then took the elevator upstairs. His mood didn’t improve throughout the morning, as he took care of the things that had piled up for him since his last visit to the office a week ago. He nearly bit the head off of the mailboy, and he actually growled at a lawyer who stopped by to ask him stupid questions about a contract that needed revising.

But when Lilah showed up—without Holland, thank God—he held his temper and told her everything was still on time. Absent any major disasters, the building should be complete before Christmas. He was still a little fuzzy about how the portal itself would be opened—some sort of ceremony with incantations and the like, he gathered—but then that part wasn’t really his concern. He just had to get the facility ready so they could begin perpetrating atrocities in a timely manner.

Lilah threw him her reptilian grin and stroked his arm before she left. He felt like taking a shower to decontaminate himself from her touch. It was lunchtime, so he decided that what he really needed was a good hard swim at the Phoenix Club, next door.

He took the elevator down to the lobby. Before he could make it to the door, the same idiot lawyer stopped him and he had to spend five minutes trying for the third time to get the guy to understand what needed to be done. Finally the lawyer nodded and scurried off, promising he’d have the revisions by the end of the day.

Xander turned and headed again for the exit, and then, suddenly, he stopped.

He very rarely thought about the vampires on display in the lobby. He’d discovered soon after he joined the firm that somebody changed them around every couple of weeks, adding some new ones, taking some of the old ones God knows where, switching around the positions of those who remained. It disgusted him and he hated himself for blithely walking by just like everyone else did, as if the suffering creatures were nothing but pretty ornaments. It was just like so much else about his life—it turned his stomach and yet he did fucking nothing about it, like the coward he was.

Today, though, he took notice of one of the vampires.

This vampire was standing with a thick pole impaling his ass. His legs were spread very wide and his hands were cuffed to the pole, forcing his back into an arch and his chest upward and outward. His head was as bald as the rest of his body. Wicked-looking clamps were tightened over both his nipples and a weight was attached to his balls, stretching them down. His cock was jutting upwards, purple and leaking, and from the looks of it, as well as the tiny, desperate moves of his hips, Xander guessed that this vampire had been enhanced. His mouth was stretched obscenely wide with a black metal ball gag.

But it was his eyes that were the most painful to look at. Pale blue and pleading. The arrogance long gone. He approached a little closer and the eyes got wider.

“Turned out nicely, didn’t it?”

Xander jumped about a foot in the air and whirled to face Holland. Holland beamed at him.

“It’s a shame about the nose, though, isn’t it? Mars the perfection a little. Should have had it fixed before we turned it.”

Xander looked again. Yes, the small bulge and the slight little twist to one side were still there.

“I’m just pleased it can still be of service to the firm. Right, Xander?”

Xander nodded wanly.

“You know, we made a very special modification with this one. Look close and see if you can tell what it is, son.”

Xander stared at Lindsey, his eyes lingering over the swollen sex and the bowed back before traveling to the tortured face. Lindsey’s eyes were turned to him and tears were leaking down his cheeks. He was making a tiny, muffled noise.

Xander shut his own eyes for a minute, then looked again.

Shit.

“He has a soul,” he whispered.

Holland clapped him on the back. “Very good, young man! That’s it precisely!”

“How?”

“Well, as you know, we owned that part of it as well. It was really a very simple matter to make sure it stayed attached. A few spells, that sort of thing.”

“Why?”

“It’s neater that way, isn’t it? Otherwise we’d have had a bodyless soul at our bidding, and we would have had to find a vessel for it. Why bother when the vessel’s right here? Besides, it makes the slave’s situation so much more…amusing. Don’t you think?”

Xander couldn’t hold his tongue any longer, no matter the consequences. “I’m not amused, Holland.”

Holland frowned in mock concern. “No, of course not. You had a bit of a bone to pick with Lindsey, didn’t you? Don’t like to be reminded of it, I’m sure. Well, you’ll see soon enough that you were very fortunate, indeed, even if you don’t fully appreciate that yet.”

Xander only scowled.

“Well, I’m late to a meeting. I’d better get there before the others start eating each other. Keep up the good work!” Holland marched away.

 

2.

“Just a little lower, please, baby.”

Spike dug the heel of his palm into Xander’s spine. It was almost hard enough to activate the chip, but Spike was willing to risk it because of the way Xander groaned with pleasure.

He’d overdone it at the gym again today, Spike could tell. That meant he was punishing himself for something, but he hadn’t divulged what and Spike didn’t want to pry right now. So instead he just did his best to relax his lover, to poke and knead some of the tension out of his body.

By the time he finished, Xander was immobile on the bed and barely conscious. “Hungry?” Spike asked quietly.

“Mmm-mm.”

Spike just watched him for a while, eventually giving in to the urge to run his hand over the muscled mounds of flesh next to him. He liked the way Xander’s narrow waist dipped in before the swell of his arse began, and he liked his heavy thighs, which were lightly covered in black hairs. He liked Xander’s back, too, which was broad and sculpted, and looked strong enough to carry the world. Practically did, sometimes. And he liked Xander’s neck, which was deeply tanned from his days at the construction site, and which was usually warm and smelling of earth when he came home, and which would feel so good beneath his fangs.

Xander snorted into his arm. “Predictable.”

“What?”

“You’re thinking about biting me again.”

“Vampire, love.”

“Would Angel let you bite him?”

“Perhaps. But it’s not the same.”

“Because he’s a vampire?”

“Because he’s not you.”

“You still love him.”

“I expect I do.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“He could use someone to love him. You never would have betrayed him like Buffy did, would you?”

Spike thought about it for a minute. There were times he hated his grandsire. Times he purposely kept himself as far away as possible. There was the incident with Marcus and the pokers. And there were all the times Angel or Angelus had dismissed him condescendingly. But no. He never would have betrayed him like that.

Spike leant over and kissed the back of Xander’s neck.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you don’t need to do this, don’t you?”

“Do what?”

“Everything. Take care of me. Have sex with me. You have Angel, and….”

Spike felt an odd tightness in his chest. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

Xander rolled onto his side and looked at Spike. “God, of course I want you! I…I do. But you don’t need me.”

Spike felt his mouth fall open in shock. “Don’t need you? Don’t bleeding _need_ you?! Without you, I’d….” He sputtered, unable to finish the thought.

“I know you need me to _own_ you, so you don’t end up in the hands of someone worse. But you don’t need…this.” Xander gestured at his naked body, at the room in general.

So that was why Xander was so anxious today—he’d decided to rid himself of Spike’s attentions. Spike wondered how a dead heart could hurt so much.

No, he couldn’t just let this go.

“I _do_ need this, Xander,” he said quietly, mimicking Xander’s hand movements.

Xander frowned at him. “But why? I don’t understand.”

And then Spike did something very foolish, something he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do. “Because I love you, you thick sod!”

Xander sat up abruptly, his mouth hanging open. “You…you can’t love me, Spike.”

And whatever was left of his heart crumbled to dust.

“Right. I can’t love because I’m a bloody demon. Sorry to be presumptuous, _Master_.”

And Spike stood and stomped out of the room, heading…somewhere. Perhaps the sun was still out.

It’s not as if he’d expected a better response. Why would Xander be pleased to hear those words from him, even if he did believe him?

He headed for the front door. His hand was on the knob and the door was almost open when cold, meaty hands grabbed his shoulders, just as he heard Xander cry out, “Spike!”

Angel clutched him hard enough to make him wince. “What the hell are you doing, William?”

Xander ran up and seized Spike’s arm. “That wasn’t what I meant!”

As Angel frowned in confusion, Spike shrugged out of his grip and stalked several feet away. He stood with his back to the others. “Yeah? What did you mean, then?”

This time Xander took hold of him and spun him around. “I know you can love, Spike. You love Angel. You loved Drusilla.”

“I can love other vampires.”

“You can love whoever the fuck you want, Spike! Jesus! What I _meant_ was you can’t love _me_. Xander Harris. Loser. Gutless wonder. The fucker who….” Xander dropped his hands and turned away with a choked cry tearing from his throat.

It was Spike who grasped Xander’s biceps this time. “Who what, Xan?” Was he finally going to tell them about his soul?

“Who fucked you over. Again and again.”

Spike was genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I _raped_ you, Spike.”

Spike blinked at him, dumbfounded. “You _what_ now?”

“I raped you, in the hotel. I fucked you because I wanted to and I didn’t give a shit what you wanted. And—“

“Xan! You never did a thing to me I didn’t want.”

“Did you want me to hit you, that time? Or abandon you at the hotel twice? Or leave you unprotected so that asshole Lindsey….” Now he was crying in earnest.

Spike rubbed Xander’s arms. Was this truly how Xander thought of himself? “Pet, you showed me kindness when nobody else had in…in decades, really. When I hadn’t done anything to deserve it. You rescued me from hell. And you brought Angel here as well.

“I meant what I said, Xander. I love you.”

Xander groaned and rubbed his hands against his face.

“It’s just…Stockholm Syndrome.”

Spike pressed up against Xander and murmured in his ear. “It’s not. Even if it was, it’d still be how I felt.”

Xander looked at him through eyes swimming with tears. “God, you don’t know…. Nobody’s ever said that to me, Spike. Nobody’s ever felt that way about me, except Willow, and she…. I can’t tell you how much I wish it was true.”

“It is true.”

Shocked, both Spike and Xander whirled toward Angel. He was standing several feet away, his arms crossed on his chest.

“I thought about what you said that time, Xander, about me not really knowing Spike. And I think you were right. So I’ve been watching him closely. I always knew he kept a lot of William in him, a lot of his humanity. Before the curse, I thought that was a weakness. After, I thought it was…an abomination, I guess. It’s neither. It’s…a marvel. An amazing thing. And he really does love you.”

As Xander looked back and forth between the vampires, Spike found himself teary, too. The pouf had actually said…. Before he had second thoughts, Spike pulled himself off Xander and walked over to Angel. He cupped his face in both hands and pulled him forward for a grateful kiss.

Then he turned back to Xander.

“I do, Xander. It’s all right, though. I know you care for me, I understand you don’t love me, and—“

“What makes you think that?”

“Evil, soulless demon.”

“And you call me thick! Of course I love you.”

All of a sudden, Spike couldn’t breathe.

“You know what I’ve done…,” he said in a choked voice.

“Yeah. And you know what I’ve done…and what I’m helping the firm do.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t care. I really don’t. I love you, Spike.”

Spike had to throw himself against Xander’s strong frame to keep from collapsing. In all of his many, many years, nobody had ever said those words to him except his mother. Not even Drusilla. She cared for him in her own way, but he was just a poor substitute for Daddy. And Angel felt affection for him, too, he expected. But not….

He looked up at Xander. Bloody hell. There was honest devotion shining from his eyes now. Xander Harris loved him.

That’s why he’d sold his soul to the lawyers.

Spike couldn’t think about that right now. With a thankful, apologetic glance at Angel, Spike grabbed Xander’s hand and dragged him up the stairs and to their bed. Xander looked about as dazed as Spike felt.

Spike gently pushed him down on the bed then climbed up to straddle him. He nuzzled into the warm, sweet scent of his neck, yearning more than ever to bite him, to penetrate him, to feel Xander’s life flow into his body, to leave his own mark on Xander’s body. But he licked him instead, just under the jawline, and Xander tasted salty and good.

They were both already hard, and their cocks nestled together as Xander squeezed Spike’s arse and they locked their lips for a deep kiss.

Xander loved him. He hadn’t even thought to hope for that.

Xander loved him.

Spike had to break the kiss to laugh with delight, and Xander smiled back, puzzled. Then he laughed, too, and his joy was such a rare and beautiful thing that Spike almost cried again. Instead, he bent down a bit and suckled on Xander’s nipple.

Xander moved his hands up and ran the fingers of one of them through Spike’s hair, over and over, while the other rubbed the sensitive skin of Spike’s neck right where it joined his shoulder.

Xander groaned as if he were in pain, but Spike knew he hadn’t hurt him because the chip didn’t go off. “Pet?” he said, looking up from his task.

“I wish…I wish you could be in me, Spike. Your teeth, your cock. I wish I could feel you that way.”

It was Spike’s turn to groan now, partly in frustration, partly from the wave of pure lust that Xander’s words had sent crashing through his body. He hadn’t known that Xander felt that way, either.

Desperate to do what he could, Spike ran his hands up and down Xander’s sides, feeling the soft skin and the hard muscles, the beating heart and the rushing blood and the pumping lungs, the strength and solidity and humanity of him. He needed to taste him. All of him. So he placed his mouth against Xander’s chest again, this time in the center, and started methodically covering every bit of him with tiny licks and kisses and brushes of his lips. It was as if he were trying to absorb Xander’s essence, to take in his goodness and make it part of himself.

By the time he got to Xander’s groin, Xander was thrashing his head and whimpering and thrusting upwards. Spike really wanted that thick cock to fill his mouth, and he wanted to savor the precome that was glistening so prettily. But he was going to save that for dessert. Now he worked his way down one long leg, stopping to bend it at the knee so he could get at the thin tender skin behind the joint, and then nibbling gently on the ankle bones.

He worked his way back up the other leg. As he moved across the charming little indentation right below Xander’s hip, Xander arched his back again and, in a hoarse voice, said, “I love you but I’m going to kill you.”

Spike laughed again—oh, and that felt so bloody good!—and blew cold air across the red crown of Xander’s cock. Xander sucked in oxygen noisily and Spike stuck his nose against Xander’s bollocks and inhaled deeply himself.

“Spiiiiike,” whined Xander.

Spike used his hands to ease Xander’s legs wide apart and settled himself between them. Xander helpfully canted his hips upward a bit as Spike ran his tongue over the scrotum and then behind it, tickling at the perineum and then circling around Xander’s puckered little hole.

“Fuck, yes!” Xander murmured. Spike inserted the tip of his tongue and Xander immediately started rocking up and down on it. Spike wished he could chance penetrating Xander with even his fingers, but that might cause a bit of pain. And if the chip zapped him, that would definitely ruin the mood.

As Xander moaned loudly, Spike pulled his tongue out and swept it back up the perineum, across the balls, and, finally, up the rigid length of Xander’s frenulum and to the spongy head. It tasted of salt and copper and soap.

Spike had intended to tease for a good while longer. But Xander emitted quite a credible growl and hauled him up by the armpits, then flipped them so that Spike was on his back instead. Not messing about in the least, he slithered down and took Spike’s cock into his own mouth.

“Bloody hell, Xan! Fuck!” He never became accustomed to the delicious feel of Xander’s warm suction around his cold, twitching organ.

As he licked and nibbled and sucked and hummed, Xander played with Spike’s sphincter. Of course, Xander didn’t have to worry about causing a slight twinge of pain, so soon he was thrusting three fingers into Spike, and Spike was vigorously fucking himself on those fingers, panting and begging and digging his heels into the mattress.

He needed…fuck, he needed to change. Now.

His bones crackled and shifted. Xander glanced up and took in the yellow eyes and gleaming fangs. Instead of recoiling in horror or disgust, as Spike still half-expected, he smiled, his eyes dilating so completely that the brown was nearly swallowed by the black.

He pulled off of Spike’s cock with a loud slurp. “Spiiiike,” he said again, but this time it was a rumbling purr, like a contented lion. He started to move up Spike’s body, but now Spike felt so empty.

“Xan, in, in, please, pet.”

Xander looked around. “Lube?”

Spike reached over and grabbed some slick from the bedside table. Xander snatched it out of his hand, drenched his own cock in some of the contents, and then tossed the tube aside. With little preamble—thank the gods, because Spike couldn’t wait—he pressed his cock against Spike’s greedy hole and then sank inside.

Spike gasped and they froze for a moment. This always felt good. But while he was in gameface, and knowing how this man felt about him anyway, was almost too much.

Xander began moving inside him, deep, slow plunges that scraped against Spike’s prostate every time, sending a thrill through him from arse to cock to bollocks to head. Spike tried to warn Xander that at this rate, he wasn’t going to last much longer. But Xander plunged his tongue into Spike’s mouth, carefully avoiding the fangs but silencing him pleasantly. Besides, based on the sudden increase in the speed of Xander’s thrusts, plus the rate at which his heart was racing within his chest, he wasn’t trying for longevity, either.

Then Xander dragged his lips off of Spike’s, down to Spike’s neck, and Spike cried out. In every language he knew—a dozen human ones and even more demon—he screamed out words with the same meaning, “I love you! I love you!” But then Xander bit him, hard, and Spike couldn’t even manage his native tongue coherently. Abandoning the Queen’s English, he howled and shrieked and clutched at Xander’s back and pressed his heels into Xander’s arse and, like a bolt of lightning, like a zap from the chip only good, he came.

A heartbeat later Xander’s cock pulsed and Xander’s movements became erratic and he shouted “Spike!” and flooded Spike’s inner passage with his fiery fluid.

Xander collapsed atop Spike. He was sweaty and both of them were breathing raggedly. “I love you,” he murmured into Spike’s ear.

Spike had been fucked and buggered and shagged and raped and poked and impaled countless times over his many years.

Tonight, though, he and Xander had made love.

 

[Part 14](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/29818.html#cutid1)


	24. May 2017 (part 14)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 14**_  
**Chapter Title:** May 2017 (part 14)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

**Today: revenge, torture, and a tiny bit of hope.**

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
****

MAY 2017

 

1.

“I have a present for you, Alex.”

Christ, he hated it when she called him that. As she knew perfectly well, which was undoubtedly why she kept doing it. He’d stopped trying to correct her, and now he just gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. Like he tried to ignore just about everything else she did.

“What, Lilah?”

She swung the pointy toe of her red shoe into the side of the slave cowering at her feet. Xander hadn’t looked too closely at the vampire when she’d come in. She seemed to have a different one every time, and most of them had an assortment of gruesome-looking wounds on their bodies. This one was no exception—he had a series of small burns across his back, as well as several narrow, deep holes that looked suspiciously like they had been made by a stiletto heel. He was hooded, too, and—

Shit.

A curly symbol was tattooed on his right shoulder blade.

“Lilah, what the hell—“

“Calm down, cowboy. Holland’s been pleased with the progress on the project and wanted to give you a little reward.” She dropped the end of the leash on Xander’s desk. “It’s all yours for one week. You can thank it for all it’s done for you. Just don’t dust it and don’t permanently damage it.”

Fuck. More vampires. That’s what he needed in his life.

“Look, I don’t want—“

“Aw, c’mon, Alex. Give it whirl. It can take whatever you want to dish out.” She kicked him again, causing him to flinch. “When it’s been screaming a while, and its voice gets extra hoarse? Really pretty.”

She left the office and Xander groaned and sank his head onto the desk. He’d given up on wondering what game Holland was playing at. Given up on everything, really, except getting through each long day so he could go home and fall into the arms of the vampire he loved. Or even, on occasion, fall into the arms of two vampires.

Like last night, for instance. Xander had knelt behind Spike, plowing into that fine ass and mouthing at the delicate neck, while Angel had stretched out on his back beneath their spread knees, using his tongue to—

Okay, he needed to focus here.

What was he going to do with Lindsey?

He couldn’t keep him here in his office for a week. Xander himself wouldn’t be here much. He’d be at the job site, the nice, sunny, job site, which was no place for a vampire. But if Holland found out that Xander had just left him here—and Holland found out almost everything, it seemed—he might be upset. Might plan something even more unpleasant.

So it looked like he was going to have to take Lindsey home. To the same home where there was Angel, the vampire that Lindsey had raped and tormented for 15 years.

Yeah, this ought to be fun.

Xander reached over and slapped Lindsey’s ass twice. As soon as he was Released, Lindsey collapsed into a fetal ball, so very like the way Spike had done all those months ago at the hotel. He remained unmoving the rest of the afternoon as Xander finished his work.

At six o’clock, Xander wearily picked up the leash and tugged Lindsey down the hallway, into the elevator, and to his car. Fortunately he brought the Escalade today. It was a lot easier to jam Lindsey in there than the Porsche. Lindsey crouched on the front passenger-side floorboard, weaving unsteadily as Xander piloted the SUV through traffic.

He left Lindsey in the car when he first arrived home because he suspected that Spike and, especially, Angel would do best with some forewarning before their temporary roommate joined them.

As usual, Spike was on top of him as soon as he entered from the garage. The house smelled wonderful. Spike had been baking again, and was that roast beef in the oven?

Xander sucked for a moment right under Spike’s left ear, then pulled away. “Where’s Angel?”

“Why, pet?” Spike grabbed Xander’s ass. “One vamp not enough for you tonight?”

Xander snorted. No, he wanted to say. Looks like this is a three vamp night. “I need to tell you guys something.”

Spike had a wary look in his eyes. “Something good?”

“Mmm, not especially, no. But not a disaster, either. Just, where’s Angel, Spike?”

“Oi, don’t get your knickers in a twist. He’s in the atrium, I expect. I’ll go get him.”

“No, it’s all right, we can go there, okay?”

He took Spike’s hand and led him inward. As Spike had guessed, Angel was sitting under the glass roof. He’d planted part of the floor in soft grass and he liked to lie there, a book in his hands. That’s what he was doing now.

“Hi, Xander,” he said.

Xander collapsed next to him on the miniature lawn, sitting with his legs crossed and not caring about grass stains on his suit. Spike sank gracefully into his lap, like a very large cat, and Xander kissed that tempting neck again.

“So. Here’s the deal.”

They both looked at him expectantly, slightly worriedly.

“Lindsey’s in my car.”

Angel sat up and dropped his book. “What?!”

“Lindsey. In my car.”

“Wh-what—why?” sputtered the big vampire.

“He’s a loaner. Holland wants me to have him for a week.”

“Why, love?” Spike asked, playing with the hair on the back of Xander’s neck.

“I have no fucking idea.” He sighed. “He’s kinda beat up. I think Lilah’s been playing with him. And he’s hooded, too.”

“What are you supposed to do with him, pet?”

“Whatever I want, as long as I hand him back alive…er, undead…and in one piece.”

Angel scowled. “Xander, I—“

“Look. I really hated him for a while, but I’m over it. Just don’t have the energy for it. Besides, he’s been suffering plenty lately. But Angel, I’m not gonna stand in your way if you want to pay him back for a small piece of what he did to you. That’s…that’s your privilege.”

Spike settled a hand on Angel’s knee. “Is that what you want, Sire?”

Angel’s eyes grew round. Spike hardly ever called him that, except when he was being sarcastic, or, once in a while, when they were in flagrante delicto. He shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”

Xander added his hand on top of Spike’s. “That’s fine. You don’t have to decide now. I’m going to bring him in and stick him somewhere, tell him to be a good boy. You can ignore him or…whatever. Your call.”

Angel nodded grimly at him. “Thanks.”

Xander gently tipped Spike off his lap and hauled himself to his feet. “There’s one thing you should know, though.”

“Yes?”

“He has a soul.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Exactly.”

Xander turned and headed for the garage, Spike beside him. Just before he went out to the car, Spike caught his arm. “Xan?”

“Yeah, dear?”

“I might want a piece of him, too.”

“Why? Because I fucked him that time?”

“No. That’s…that doesn’t matter. Because he made you…do things you didn’t want to.” Spike bit at his lip, and Xander wondered exactly what he meant. He didn’t know about the contract, did he? How could he? Jesus, maybe Xander should keep Lindsey gagged so he wouldn’t spill the beans. The last thing Spike needed—or Angel, for that matter—was to know how much they’d cost him.

“Okay, Spike. Whatever you want. Just don’t dust him.”

Xander wondered about the wisdom of turning over Lindsey’s fate to two vampires, one with a grudge and a reputation for inspired cruelty, the other with no soul and 17 years of repressed violence. Then he shrugged. He wasn’t going to try to direct this situation.

He pulled Lindsey out of the car and into the house. Spike followed curiously as he dragged the trembling creature into the living room and put him in a Kneel in one corner. Lindsey was wearing one of those plastic cock cages over his purple, weeping organ. His tan was long gone, leaving his skin as white as Spike’s and Angel’s. He had the same kind of collar Angel had worn: thick, slightly rough iron. There were marks on his chest and torso—long, deep scratches, as if he’d been raked by talons, and small constellations of those burns. Xander knew quite well what caused marks like that. The lit end of a cigarette.

Xander shook his head sadly. What he’d said to Angel was true. All the hate had washed out of him, replaced by weariness and resignation. In the end, it wasn’t really Lindsey’s fault he’d ended up where he had. Lindsey had only been a pawn. If he hadn’t lured Xander into Wolfram &amp; Hart, they would have found another way. Xander was weak, and it wouldn’t have taken much. If it weren’t for Spike, he might even have tipped all the way over, become like Lilah, delighting in the power and the evil he could wreak. And wasn’t that ironic? It was his love for a soulless vampire that had kept him relatively decent.

At least, decent enough to feel guilty about the wicked things he was doing.

Fuck. Maybe he’d tip over anyway, eventually, despite Spike.

With a heavy heart, Xander unfastened Lindsey’s hood and slowly peeled it off. Lindsey took a deep, shuddering lungful of oxygen as soon as he could. Xander heard Spike inhale behind him, likely reminded of all the times he’d been deprived even of the freedom to breathe.

Lindsey’s eyes were shut tightly. Spike came up behind Xander and leaned against his back, his left hand resting on Xander’s shoulder. Xander inclined backward a little, craving the touch of his lover even through his clothes.

With a loud swallow, Lindsey allowed his lids to flutter open. He gasped in shock when he saw who was standing in front of him.

“Hi, Lindsey,” Xander said softly.

“Xan-Xander?” His voice was like sandpaper. What had Lilah said about him screaming?

Xander felt Spike’s grip on him tighten possessively, and he turned his head for a slow, sweet kiss. He might not hate Lindsey any more, but he wasn’t above a small bit of torment. He felt Spike’s cock harden against his hip and he smiled.

“Honey? Would you mind heating up a cup moo juice?”

“Gonna waste it on the likes of him?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you run out.”

Spike bussed Xander’s cheek and then strutted away, his long cock jutting proudly in front of him, a small smirk on his face. Xander turned to Lindsey, who was frowning, looking both confused and frightened.

“Here’s what’s up. Holland gave you to me for a week.” Lindsey winced, maybe at the mention of his former boss’s name. “You’re going to stay here, at my house. You’re going to be nice, especially to Spike and Angel.”

“Angel?” Lindsey said, horror darkening his face.

“Yeah. And I’ve already told both of them they can do what they want to you, because you fucking deserve anything they dish out. Especially Angel.”

“I know,” Lindsey said in a tiny voice, his gaze fixed on the carpet.

“And if you even think about harming either of them again, I promise you I’ll make Lilah Morgan look like Mother Teresa. Got it?”

Lindsey nodded minutely. “Yes…Master.”

Okay. It was so wrong, but Xander felt a thrill of satisfaction at that word from those lips.

Spike re-entered then with two blue mugs in his hand. He handed one to Xander and took a slow sip from the other. Lindsey licked his lips.

Xander walked close to the kneeling vampire and held out the blood. “Here,” he said. “Eat.”

With a small whimpering noise, Lindsey flung out his hands and practically snatched it away. He emptied the mug in one long gulp, his eyes closed, his throat emitting guttural moans.

Xander took the cup back when it was empty, and Lindsey blinked up at him. “Th-thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

“I—I ain’t had any.”

“Had any what?”

“Blood, Master.”

Jesus. “None at all?”

“Just…just when I was turned.”

Nearly a year a vampire and just now tasting real blood. Spike growled softly at Xander’s side, likely thinking the same thoughts as Xander.

“Well, the vampires here get the real stuff. As long as they’re good,” he added, slapping his hand lightly onto Spike’s ass.

Spike growled again, louder. “Oh, I’m _very_ good.”

Another slap and a chuckle from Xander. “Yeah. You are.”

 

2.

Spike and Angel considered the bound vampire, who kept his head meekly bowed.

Before he’d left for work, Xander had dug out the shackles he’d once bought to restrain Spike. He cuffed Lindsey’s hands behind his back and his ankles together, and he’d tethered Lindsey’s collar to one of the exposed ceiling beams with a long length of chain. Lindsey could sit or lie down on the soft living room carpet, he could even stand and hop a few feet, but that was it.

Xander had let Lindsey watch as he handed the key to Angel. Then he’d kissed Spike—kissed _Angel_, which was unusual but nice to watch—and left for work.

As Lindsey looked at them uneasily, Spike dragged Angel out of the room and toward the atrium, too far away for Lindsey to hear them. There he’d told Angel of the scheme he’d thought up to torture Lindsey. Angel had lifted one eyebrow, thought for a moment, and then his face had widened into a quite Angelus-like smile. He nodded.

Now they were back in the living room, drinking blood and smacking their lips with satisfaction. Lindsey was sitting on his arse, his knees drawn tightly against himself in a manner that in no way hid the trembling of his body.

Spike placed his empty cup on the fireplace mantel and leered at Lindsey. “Comfortable?”

Lindsey sniffled and ducked his head again, and Spike allowed himself his very nastiest laugh. Oh, it felt good to be bad again.

“Do you remember when you could do this?” he asked, and turned to Angel, who was standing very close. Slowly, he drew his palm over his grandsire’s broad chest, pausing to rub his thumb over each of his large, brown nipples. Angel rested one hand on Spike’s shoulder and tipped his head back a bit, his eyes hooded and shining.

“Feels nice, yeah? All those big, strong muscles and cool, smooth skin. He never did have much hair on his body, even before you wankers got to him.”

Spike traced his hand lower, felt the slight in and out of Angel’s flat belly as he breathed. He swirled his middle finger around the edge of Angel’s navel, then in.

Lindsey groaned and Spike looked over at him. His eyes were closed and his face was pressed against his knees.

“You can shut your eyes, but you can’t close your ears, can you? Or your nose. Can you smell us, lawyer? Smell how much we want each other?”

Lindsey shook his head slightly in denial, and Spike sniggered. “You’re not much of a liar. I know what it feels like, when you have that chemical shite coursing through your body and the need is burning in you and you would give anything just for somebody to do _this_.” He grasped Angel’s thick, firm cock and pumped slowly. Angel hissed his appreciation and flexed his hips slightly.

Spike thought he heard Lindsey whimper.

For several minutes, Spike continued wanking Angel. Angel’s fingers gradually dug deeper and deeper into his shoulder, and he was panting loudly. But Spike’s own cock was feeling neglected, so he stepped in a little closer and squeezed their organs together.

“Yessss,” Angel breathed. He slid both of his big palms onto Spike’s arse, cupping and squeezing.

This time, Lindsey actually sobbed. He was wiggling his arse on the carpet, trying hopelessly to get some friction anywhere that would feed his desperate hunger. Soon he’d probably be humping his plastic-encased cock into the floor.

Angel suddenly clutched Spike closer, so close that Spike’s hand was trapped between their bellies and he couldn’t move it. But Angel kneaded his cheeks and mouthed at his neck, and fuck, but that felt bloody nice.

Angel licked up Spike’s jawline and into his ear. “I want to be in you, Will,” he rumbled, loud enough for Lindsey to hear. Spike mumbled his assent and Angel let him go.

With a wicked grin, Spike dropped into a modified Present, leaning up a bit on his elbows and waving his arse in the general direction of the other vampires. Angel growled possessively and sank to his knees, then grabbed Spike’s buttocks. He pushed them together and apart several times, and if plaguing Lindsey hadn’t been their goal—well, one of them—Spike would have told him to hurry up. After all these years, his body responded to Angel’s touch like a Stradivarius responds to a virtuoso violinist.

Then, his breath was stolen away as Angel bent and lapped at his twitching hole. “God!” he said, when he could speak again. “Like that! Like…fuck…more.”

Angel responded by pointing his tongue and sticking it in, at the same time reaching underneath and stroking Spike’s throbbing cock. “Fuck! Yes!” Spike cried.

He stole a glance at Lindsey. The bastard was on his side now, writhing and flopping like a fish in a net. His mouth was open and tears were coursing down his face, and he was making choked little mewling noises.

Angel reared up again, slapping Spike’s bum twice, just hard enough for Spike to lean back and hope for more. But instead Angel parted Spike’s cheeks again and ran his wet cock up and down the cleft.

“Fuck me, Sire,” Spike rasped.

“With pleasure,” said Angel. He lined his cock against Spike’s hole and then, smooth as silk, slid inside. Spike had slicked himself in preparation before they’d entered the living room, and he was more than ready for Angel’s substantial girth.

“Ohhh,” moaned Angel. “You’re so tight, Will. God.” Angel wasn’t normally much of a talker when they shagged, so this was likely for Lindsey’s benefit, but Spike didn’t care. He liked the sound of it. He decided to play, too.

“Bloody hell, Liam. Feels so good. So big. Harder! Yeah, yeah, like that.”

And it did feel good, and Angel stretched him and filled him, as each deep thrust hit his prostate just right. Angel was grunting now, and Spike listened to the sound of skin slapping on skin.

But then Angel had another idea, apparently. He slowed his movements and pulled Spike upright in front of him. This was fine with Spike, because now he started pulling at his own cock and he turned his head to lock lips with Angel. Their tongues danced around each others’ mouths to the jazz rhythm of their coupling.

Spike turned his head toward Lindsey again. “Are you sorry …ooh, fuck, like that, yeah…he never fucked you, Lindsey? ‘Cause…God, Angel…it feels so…fucking…good. Love to have him pound into me, yeah? Love…more, more, more…fuck.”

It was getting hard to talk, but that didn’t matter. His cock was thrumming under his hand and his arse was tingling and his bollocks were drawing up against his body and Lindsey was weeping and thrashing about and—

Bones crunched quietly behind him a split second before Angel struck. He bit deeply into Spike’s neck and Spike howled and his semen shot so far some of it landed on Lindsey’s face. Seconds later, Angel spasmed against him and spilled into him, his fangs not releasing their grip on Spike’s flesh.

Lightheaded from a bloody good climax as well as blood loss, Spike collapsed onto the floor with Angel blanketing him like a great lummox. Good thing he didn’t need to breathe.

Angel withdrew his teeth and licked tenderly at the small wounds. He withdrew from Spike’s arse, too, running his hands appreciatively down the line of Spike’s back. He bent and placed a kiss on each cheek, and Spike laughed and wiggled a bit.

Then Angel lifted his head a bit to glare at Lindsey. “I don’t blame you for what you did to me, you motherfucker. Or to my sweet William. We’re just vampires, right?”

Sweet William? An electric thrill ran down Spike’s spine.

But Angel was still talking, snarling at Lindsey. “But Xander. He’s human. Good. He’s a good man, and you snared him and infected him, you twisted piece of shit.”

“I…I had to,” Lindsey gasped unhappily. “If I didn’t, they’d—“

“They’d what? Kill you and turn you and make you their slave?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m sor—“

“If you fucking say you’re sorry I’m going to yank your balls right off of you.”

Lindsey squeaked.

Spike sat up and leaned against his grandsire. “We know what you did. Know how you ruined my Xander.”

“I didn’t ruin—“

Spike lurched upwards and, quite suddenly gamefaced, roared in Lindsey’s face. Lindsey tried to move away from him and couldn’t.

“You fucking stole his bloody soul!”

Lindsey shook his head. “No. No. He traded it. For you.”

Angel was right behind Spike. “You warped his love into something horrible, asshole. Took from him the only one who loved him, the only one he loved. Left him no choice at all.”

“I didn’t understand,” whispered Lindsey.

“Didn’t understand _what_?”

“Who he was. How much he cared. I thought…I thought he was like me.”

“He could never be like you!” said Spike venomously.

“I know.”

Lindsey was sobbing again, and suddenly Spike felt exhausted. Every one of his years weighed upon him, heavy as the burden of a soul he’d lost long ago. He turned and burrowed against Angel, who wrapped him in his arms and crooned to him like a baby. Spike snorted softly. Probably one of his bloody awful bog-trotting lullabies. Or Barry Manilow.

“Loophole.”

Angel dropped his arms and Spike spun around.

“What?”

“There’s a loophole in the contract.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” demanded Angel.

Lindsey sighed and struggled into a sitting position. “I wrote the contract. I didn’t think anyone would read it too carefully—Holland still trusted me then—and I hid a loophole in there. In Latin.” He laughed bitterly. “That man ain’t never been good at Latin.”

“Why?”

“Because…because I _liked_ Xander. I’d hoped that maybe someday…I don’t know. Insurance, maybe?”

Spike felt a tiny prickling of hope.

But Angel growled. “If you’re lying….”

“I ain’t lyin’. I don’t know if it’ll even do you any good. It’s…it’s a very small loophole. And you can’t tell Xander.”

“Why not?”

“The clause is nullified if he knows about it. I didn’t want nobody tellin’ him, maybe someday when he was happier with his place in the firm, and he’d go tellin’ Holland.”

Spike and Angel exchanged glances. This could be just a ruse, a way for Lindsey to try and save his own sorry skin. Still, it didn’t hurt to listen.

“All right,” Spike said. “Tell us.”

And Lindsey did.

[Part 15](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/30709.html#cutid1)


	25. October 2017 (part 15)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 15**_  
**Chapter Title:** October 2017 (part 15)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

**Today: A plan, perhaps.   
**  
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
****

OCTOBER 2017

 

1.

Xander sighed and ran a finger through the sticky mess on Spike’s hard stomach. “It’s almost done,” he said.

Spike wiggled back a little, pressing himself into the solid heat behind him. Xander’s wet, softened cock was nestled nicely between his buttocks. Xander would stay like this forever, if he could.

“Pet? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I can’t…I can’t stop it, baby. I can’t. But I can’t go through with it either. I’m just screwed.”

“And when you do help them, what happens after?”

“I dunno. They kill thousands. Millions, maybe. And that’s on me.” He laughed sadly. “Makes your body count and Angel’s together look like nothing, huh?”

Spike murmured something soothing.

“But that’s not all, Spike. I think they’re planning even worse. I don’t think they’re gonna stop with making slaves of convicts.”

“Who, then?”

“Everyone! I think they intend to take over the fucking planet.”

He’d come to this conclusion gradually. Partly because he’d realized exactly how depraved Wolfram &amp; Hart was, how greedy for money and power. And partly because Lilah couldn’t resist dropping little hints of bigger things to come.

Last Monday, for example, she’d danced into his office, once again dragging Lindsey. His former boss was looking considerably worse for the wear, thin and bruised and cringing at every movement. He wouldn’t make eye contact with Xander. Xander had tried to find a way to keep him after his week was up—although Christ knows how that would have worked with Spike and Angel in the house—but Holland insisted on having him back. He did hint that he might hand him over as a bonus once the portal was opened. Lovely.

Lilah dropped the leash nonchalantly on the floor and walked over to Xander’s window, gazing out at the teeming streets below.

“Look at all those fools, rushing nowhere,” she’d trilled. “As if anything they do really matters. Not a clue of what fate has in store for them.”

Maybe she’d expected Xander to ask what she meant, but he hadn’t. He didn’t want to know.

With a happy little chirrup, she dropped some papers on his desk. They were a detailed listing of the procedures and materials he was supposed to get ready for the portal-opening ritual. She kicked Lindsey viciously between the legs, connecting sharply with his swollen balls. He screamed into his gag and rolled into a ball. Xander flinched and looked away.

“See ya later,” she sang to Xander, and wrenched brutally at Lindsey’s leash, which Xander saw was hooked to a ring that had been set in his cock. Lindsey yelped and scrambled miserably after her.

Now, Xander sighed heavily into Spike’s tumbled curls. He felt so fucking helpless.

Spike twisted around in his arms until he was facing Xander, his blue eyes gazing solemnly at him. “Xan? Are you going to be able to live with yourself after this?”

Xander let out a burst of humorless laughter. “I can barely live with myself now.”

Spike stroked his face tenderly. “Is there some way you can stop them?”

“I…I could at least fucking try. I wouldn’t succeed, but—“

“But then you could live with yourself.”

Xander shook his head. “Then I’d be royally fucked. You have no idea how powerful they are, Spike. Look what they did to Lindsey, and all he did was drag his feet a little.”

Spike’s thumb traced across Xander’s brow, as if he were trying to iron out the lines of tension there. “You don’t want to end up like the lawyer. I understand, love.”

“No, you don’t. They…they already own me. There’s nothing I can do about that.” Spike’s eyes filled with sorrow, but he didn’t look surprised. Had Lindsey said something to him that week after all?

“Pet, I—“

“No, wait. It’s done. It was my decision. But you and Angel, honey.”

“What about us?”

“If…if Wolfram &amp; Hart eat me up, then you’re…you’re not safe. And I can’t do that to you again.”

“So you’d let the world go to hell to save me and Angel?”

“I…fuck, Spike, I don’t know!” His head hurt. Not only was there no way to win this game, there was no way not to lose really horribly.

“Love, I can’t let you do that,” Spike said, still petting his face.

“Do what?”

“Sacrifice the world to save us.”

“Suddenly you care about the world?”

“Not so suddenly. Made a deal to save it before, once, remember?”

That was true.

“Anyway, it’s not the world that matters to me, Xan. It’s you. You just let this happen and you’ll be destroyed.”

“So…what’s the solution, Spike?” It was like being trapped in a cage, with no way out.

Spike smiled at him. “We go out with a bang, love, me and Angel.”

Xander’s stomach tied itself in a knot. “What do you mean?”

“Get us near that wanker Holland, and we’ll tear out his throat.”

“The chip, remember?”

“Can’t really forget, can I? But you get the two of us close enough and we’ll be able to do some damage before we’re out of commission. Then you can dust us, pet.”

“That won’t…that won’t solve anything. They can replace Holland Manners. Hell, they can probably keep using him after he’s dead.”

“Would make me feel better.”

“Feel better as dust, Spike? Because—“ He stopped and sat up.

Spike tilted his head at him. “What?”

Xander waved his hand impatiently. “Shh!” There was a thought, an idea just bubbling….

Fuck.

It wouldn’t work.

It couldn’t.

But it was something.

Xander hopped out of bed. “I need to talk to you and Angel.”

Spike stood, too. “Something going on in that head of yours, pet?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Together, they padded downstairs. Angel was sitting outside and dangling his feet in the Jacuzzi. He looked slightly alarmed as they descended on him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. Xander guessed his face must look pretty grim.

Xander sat next to him and stuck his feet in the water, too, and Spike did the same. There was a full moon tonight, and the vampires’ skin glowed softly, ethereally. Xander kicked a little, watching the water ripple around him.

“Angel, you know what a fucked up situation I’m in. We’re all in.”

Angel exchanged a quick glance with Spike. Christ, they did know something. But what? Okay, he could deal with that later.

“Yes, Xander. I know.”

“Spike says…Spike says he’s willing to sacrifice himself if we can do some damage to Wolfram &amp; Hart.”

Angel’s eyebrows lifted. “Spike?”

Spike hunched defensively. “Yeah, Peaches?”

Angel opened his mouth, then closed it. And he nodded. “Me too.”

The smaller vampire relaxed visibly.

“So,” Xander said. “You’ll both risk pain and death…final death?”

They nodded at him.

He let out a breath.

“Okay then.” And he told them what he’d thought of. They asked a few questions, but that was all. All three of them agreed it was hopeless.

But they were going to try it anyway.

Xander went inside to make some phone calls.

 

2.

It was an awkward greeting.

Shaking hands wasn’t right at all. A hug…no. So finally they just smiled uncomfortably and said hello and sat.

As soon as they did, a waiter came by, and Xander ordered a beer. Kind of wished they had hard liquor. She ordered a white wine—he guessed she could use a little lubrication, too.

It was unseasonably warm out so they were outdoors. A couple walked by, both big, burly men with full beards and lots of leather. They were holding hands. The corner of Xander’s mouth twitched slightly. Apparently for some folks, love was in the air.

“You look really good,” she said.

“You, too.” It wasn’t a lie. All the soft edges of her had been worn away, leaving nothing but angles and points. Even her eyes were sharp. She almost jangled and clicked when she moved. But she was still pretty, clad in fashionable blacks, her blonde hair artfully arranged.

He tried to smile. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know.” She tossed her head slightly. “My husband and I run an art gallery in SoHo, just a few blocks from here. We can go after lunch, if you want.”

“Sure. That’d be great.”

“And we’ve been travelling a lot. We just bought this house in Connecticut and we’ve been fixing it up, and—And that’s not why you called me, is it, Xander?”

“No. But I really do want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m…I’m okay.”

The waiter came by then with their drinks, and Xander immediately took a long, grateful chug. They ordered some food, too. A salad for her and a burger for him.

As soon as the waiter was gone, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Were you flirting with that waiter, Xander Harris?”

“No, I…um, maybe a little.”

“Explain.”

He shrugged. “Gay.”

“No! Since when?”

“Since always.”

“But…what about that thing with Will” –her voice stumbled a little but she went on—“with Willow senior year? And Cordelia? And Anya? And I kinda always thought you had a thing for me.”

“Denial and confusion on top of more denial. I even denied myself into two bad marriages.”

“So, what made you see the light?”

“It wasn’t the light I saw, and it involved a really hot guy I met at the gym, and we so don’t need to talk about that.” Actually, though, he hadn’t thought about Scott in years, and his lip twitched again at the memory. At least it was just his lip.

“Are you seeing anyone special now?”

“Yes.” Very special. But he’d save that bit of info for later.

“You’re serious?”

“Pretty much.”

Her smile was bright and genuine. “That’s great, Xan. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. And your guy?”

“Oh, we’ve been married a couple of years. Luka. He’s a sculptor. He’s great.” She smiled again, but her eyes were strained and sad.

“You like living here?”

“I’ve gotten used to it. The shopping is good. And it’s not….”

“Not Sunnydale,” he finished.

She nodded. “How did you find me, Xander?”

“I ran into Riley Finn a while back.” Her mouth tightened. Not a happy memory there, apparently. “He said…said you were in New York. And I have some good sources for finding things out.”

She was giving him a long look when the food arrived. The waiter brought a second bottle of Heineken, too, and Xander shot him a grateful glance. Then he took a big bite of his burger. It was juicy and the bun looked home baked, but it tasted like cardboard to Xander, who just wanted this conversation over with.

Buffy picked at her lettuce.

He took another gulp and put the glass down. “Buffy,” he said. “Why’d you do it?”

She set her fork on the table. “Is that why you’re here? To blame me?”

“No, I’m here to ask you for your help.” Her eyes grew round with surprise. “But last time I did that it didn’t work out so well, and I honestly need to know why. I’ve made some pretty fucking awful choices myself,” he added. And wasn’t that the truth?

Maybe it was that last sentence, but her expressive face became a little less angry. She hadn’t had an easy time of it either, he’d bet. She had been put in bad situations that weren’t her fault, and she’d lost her friends, too. Now, she looked worn. No longer a girl, she was a woman well acquainted with grief.

For the first time in nearly two decades, Xander sympathized a little with her.

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” she said softly. “I thought I was saving the world from monsters.”

“Oz was a monster?”

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her, then looked down. “No. He wasn’t. He was a friend.”

“And Angel?”

Her head snapped back up. “What do you know about Angel?”

“I know you sold him out.”

“I….” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “He…without the soul, he….”

He raised his eyebrows at her, and she straightened her shoulders.

“He was still a danger.”

“So if he lost his soul again you could have kicked his ass, just like the last time.”

“I didn’t want to!” she snapped. “I was tired of always having to kick someone’s ass. Tired of saving the world again and again, and there’s always another apocalypse waiting in line.” The couple at the next table over—tourists in jeans and sweatshirts—turned to stare. Xander scowled at them fiercely and they averted their gaze.

“So you did it so you didn’t have to be Slayer anymore?”

“I…no….” She sighed. “Maybe. And Riley and Professor Walsh, they made it sound like it was the smart thing to do. It made so much sense, Xander!”

He sat back a little in his chair. “So how’s that working for you, Buff?”

She shrank in on herself, suddenly as insubstantial as a small child. “Not so good.”

“Yeah?”

“It was okay for a while. And then Professor Walsh died, and…. I don’t know. I started…doubting…a little. Riley and I fought. A lot.” She shrugged. “I tried to get as far away from all that as I could.”

They were silent for several minutes and he thought hard. Was there any chance she’d grant his request? Because if she didn’t, if she just got pissed off, he was going to make matters infinitely worse for himself and his vampires. But if she did agree to help…. Was that regret he’d seen in her eyes?

He drained his glass again.

“Let me tell you a story,” he said. “It begins in this hotel in LA.”

She turned white as a ghost when he told her about finding Spike, and when he divulged that Spike was the someone special he was seeing, she choked and had to drink a whole glass of water. He couldn’t really blame her. She hadn’t even known he liked men until this afternoon. Let alone vampires.

But when he told her about Angel, she turned green and had to excuse herself to go to the bathroom. She returned five minutes later, pallid and shaky.

The rest of the story made her alternately furious—the selling his soul part—and shocked—the having sex with Angel part—and appalled—the enslaving the world part. By the time he was done talking, the waiter had whisked away their mostly uneaten lunches, and Buffy was stabbing her fork into a chocolate gateau as if it were a Fyarl demon. He’d emptied two more bottles of beer.

“All right,” she said, pushing the plate of crumbs away. “What did you have in mind?”

The waiter came by just then. Xander paid the bill, leaving a generous tip, and he and Buffy stood.

“C’mon. You can tell me while we walk.”

She slid her arm around his and they strolled slowly. Despite the grimness of the situation, this felt right, and the weight in his heart lifted a little. He noticed that Buffy, too, was walking with a little bounce in her step.

He finished telling her his plan just as they arrived outside her gallery. There were several ugly abstract sculptures in the window, and some paintings of a skinny naked woman with a cat face. Buffy looked up at him. “You know it’s probably not gonna work, Xander.”

“Yeah. You got a better idea?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t.” She leaned against the outside of the doorframe. “And Angel and Spike are okay with this?”

He nodded.

“But…Angel I could see. But Spike….”

“Because he doesn’t have a soul?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. “He loves me.”

She squinted one eye up at him. “Spike lo--. No. Wait. I can see that, actually. I can see him falling for someone and getting all stalkery.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the one who had _him_ chained up naked in my bed, Buff.”

She blushed slightly. He wondered when was the last time she’d done that.

“Xander, even if this thingy does work, the results—“

“Are still a hell of a lot better than Wolfram &amp; Hart running the show. Believe me.”

She crossed her arms in front of her and looked down the block, where a man was pushing a hot dog cart through a giant door into a large warehouse-type building. Behind him, three college students with backpacks were laughing loudly about something. A middle-aged lady across the street was walking a basset hound.

“Okay,” she said.

“You’ll do it?”

“Yep.”

Finally, there was that hug.

 

3.

Spike had been locked in a house with the big ponce for three days worrying about his human 2500 miles away, and if that wasn’t hell on earth, he didn’t know what was. Angel was worried too, which meant he engaged in a marathon brooding session that Spike couldn’t annoy or seduce him out of.

So when Spike heard the garage door sliding open he ran to the interior door and waited to pounce on Xander the second he appeared. And then for a time he was too close and too busy to get a good look at him. Finally, though, Xander pushed him away, breathless and already half stripped by Spike’s eager fingers.

Spike saw the sparkle in those brown eyes, a sparkle that had been all but missing for ages.

“She said yes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Brilliant!” Spike said, and plastered himself up against Xander again.

Several minutes later, Xander firmly shoved him away again. “Spike! At least let me get in the door all the way.”

Spike smirked at him. Xander’s blue-striped shirt was torn open because Spike hadn’t had the patience for buttons, and his tee was rucked up almost to his neck. His belt was unbuckled and the top three buttons of his jeans were unfastened. His lips were swollen and his hair mussed. He was beautiful.

“How is she?” said a voice behind him.

Bugger. They were going to have to do this first.

Xander said, “Hi, Angel. Look, let me dump my suitcase upstairs and get out of these clothes, then we can talk. Okay?”

Spike grabbed the bag for him and trailed him up the stairs. He sat on the bed and watched as Xander kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and finished the undressing job that Spike had begun. Xander pulled his things out of his luggage and tossed the dirty laundry in the hamper. As he passed by the bed, he suddenly threw himself onto Spike, knocking him onto his back on the mattress with a surprised “Oof!” and grinding their pelvises together.

“I missed you, baby,” he purred. “You had three days of hot vampire sex. I had diddly squat.”

“I didn’t miss you at all,” Spike intoned, writhing under Xander’s grabby hands. “Was quite nice, actually. No snoring in my ear.”

Xander pushed his hips down hard enough to make Spike gasp. “Yeah, and nobody stole my blankets.”

“No smelly exercise clothes.”

“No cold feet—cold everything—in the middle of the night.” Xander nibbled on Spike’s earlobe.

“No—guh—no horrible music.”

Xander pressed his lips against the thin skin under Spike’s left ear. “No blood breath.” And he gave his hips a shimmy that made Spike gasp again.

“No…oh, bloody hell, pet, like that…no beer bottles littering the…fuck, yeah…littering the place.”

“None of this,” Xander said, and sucked against Spike’s jugular, just above the collar. And then neither of them said much of anything for a time, just moaning and grunting and an occasional blasphemy, until both of their chests and stomachs were sticky with semen and Xander had collapsed on top of him bonelessly.

Eventually, Xander peeled himself off and stood, extending a hand to Spike. “C’mon. Let’s go sit in the hot tub and I’ll tell you all about it. Oh—and wait. I brought you a present.”

He dug through his bag and dug out a CD, which he tossed to Spike. Spike looked at it. The Damned. He smiled at Xander. “Ta, love.”

“That one’s out of print. At least, that’s what the guy at the record shop said.”

Xander pulled something else out of the suitcase and then tromped down the stairs, Spike close behind. Spike placed his new CD near the stereo. He’d have to listen later. Loudly.

Angel was waiting in the kitchen, sipping on a mug of cow. He rolled his eyes at them and pretended to be irritated by their obvious post-climactic state, but it was hard to miss the way the pouf’s cock was at half-mast. Spike leered at him. He and Xander would have to find an interesting way to deal with that later.

Xander set an object down on the counter in front of Angel.

“What’s this?”

“A present,” grinned Xander.

Angel picked it up. It was a slim leather case. He opened the flap, and inside was a set of pencils.

“They’re tinted charcoals. The girl said they were good ones.”

Angel blinked at him. “Th-thank you.” He ducked his head so they couldn’t read his face. Spike wondered when was the last time someone gave his grandsire a pressie.

All three of them wandered outside and submerged themselves to their chests in the warm, bubbling water. Spike was quite firmly of the opinion that Jacuzzis were one of the great inventions of the twentieth century.

“So,” Xander said. “Buffy’s fine. She’s…sad, I guess. She’s sorry.”

Spike snorted. “She bloody well should—“

Xander smacked him in the chest.

“Oi!”

Xander inclined his head toward Angel, who was glowering at the LA skyline.

Right. Guess the tosser didn’t need his face rubbed in it.

“She’s married to this artist guy, not particularly happily, and I think she’s been feeling lost for a long time. Purposeless. I guess it’s hard to be the chosen one and then…just some chick who can throw a mean right hook. Anyway, she’s going to help.”

“Did you tell her everything, love?” Spike asked.

“Yeah.”

Spike wondered if that included the bit about the soul as well. That truth still was unspoken among them, although they’d skirted around it several times. Xander had admitted that Wolfram &amp; Hart owned him, and that it was the result of a decision he’d made. Why didn’t he want to tell them the rest?

Something to consider later.

“You told her about us?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“She was kinda surprised at first. But she took it well. She said she could see you falling for someone.”

“Huh.” Odd, that the Slayer was the one person who didn’t seem to doubt his capacity to love. “And the old man?”

“Well, that was more of a shock, I think. But….” He turned to look at Angel. “Angel? What she did to you—there’s no excuse. But she was very young, you know? And vulnerable.”

“I know,” Angel said quietly.

Xander scooted over until he was pressed up against the big vampire’s side. He put his arm around the broad, bare shoulders. Spike just watched. He liked the look of them together, both muscular with dark skin and eyes, and Xander’s skin was bronzed from the sun while Angel’s was pale from over two centuries of darkness.

Angel leaned his head wearily against Xander’s.

Far above them, a jet engine droned, and a coyote was howling somewhere. Spike wanted to howl right back.

[Part 16](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/30753.html#cutid1)


	26. November 2017 (part 16)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 16**_  
**Chapter Title:** November 2017 (part 16)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

**Today's chapter is short and won't resolve all your questions, so I'm making up for that by posting it early. Tomorrow's chapter will be very exciting!   
**  
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
****

NOVEMBER 2017

 

1.

“Ooh! Pretty!”

“Hands off, Lilah!”

“Aw. You don’t share your toys? That’s not very nice, Alex.”

Xander counted to ten. “What do you want?”

“Just confirming that you have everything all set.”

“Midnight on the eighteenth. It’ll be ready.” December 18 was the night of the full moon, which was apparently important for the portal-opening rites. He decided to look on the bright side—he’d never have to spend another miserable Christmas feeling sorry for himself.

“Wonderful.” Lilah flashed her teeth at him and stalked in a small circle. “Are you sure I can’t borrow one for just a little while? Mine’s temporarily out of order.”

That was probably why she was there to begin with. It wasn’t like she couldn’t have checked the arrangements by phone or email.

He stood up and stepped between her and the objects of her interest. “I have a lot of work to get done today. Unless you want me to call Holland and tell him why I’m having trouble finishing on time.”

She giggled. “Oh, Alex! Since when did you grow a pair?”

He glared.

With a final smile and wave, she left. He locked the door behind her.

“You guys okay?”

Spike knelt up and rolled his eyes, while Angel nodded. They’d all agreed this was going to be easier if the vampires were gagged; otherwise, one of them—probably Spike—might slip up at the wrong time and speak his mind. Their time of relative freedom with Xander—nearly two years in Angel’s case, and almost three for Spike—had made them forget some of the lessons that had been beaten into them.

Xander got onto his knees between them and enveloped them in a hug, then he got up and returned to his desk. While he sorted through mind-numbing piles of figures, Spike and Angel curled up near his feet and dozed.

He wasn’t sure who this was hardest on. All three of them were pretty miserable and when they got home each evening, all three required a good dose of comforting sex. Xander worked hard to remind the vampires how much he cared for them, and that his treatment of them during work hours was just a ruse, just part of the plan.

It wasn’t so bad on days he was at the site. They’d show up before dawn and the vampires would crawl into the trailer that served as his office. They’d spend all day there, crawling back to the Escalade after the sun set. The traffic through that office was relatively light, mostly because Xander himself spent a good part of the day walking around the nearly-complete building. The few people who did come to see him generally were much too busy to screw around with the vampires. Xander had made it very clear to everyone that there were very dire consequences for delays.

But he did have to spend some time at the main office. Spike and Angel were forced then to crawl humiliatingly through the hallways, and then to put on a good, subservient show for all the many lawyers and PAs and various other minions who came through, needing signatures and explanations and dumping off piles of papers.

It was nearly five when there was another knock at the door. Angel and Spike rolled themselves into position. It wouldn’t do to have vampires lying around like puppies.

“Come in,” Xander called tiredly.

“Xander, my boy! You’re still here.”

Crap.

Xander got up and stuck out his hand for Holland to shake. “Hi, Holland.”

Holland walked around the desk a little so he had a better look at the vampires. “I’d heard you were bringing your slaves in.”

“That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Oh, no, of course not, son. I bring mine in myself.” Xander remembered the one he’d seen the last time he was in the man’s office, a very young-looking female with a jeweled collar on her neck and a large pink ball gag in her mouth. Holland had been using her as a footstool.

Now, Holland bent for a better look at Angel, who was Kneeling, his head docilely bowed. “I was just wondering why you suddenly decided to bring them with you. You’ve had them for some time, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. But I’ve been putting in such long hours lately, practically living here and the site.”

“So you decided to bring some of the comforts of home, is that it, son?”

“Pretty much.” Man, if he was fantasizing right now about tearing open this bastard’s neck, what must be going on in the vampires’ heads?

Holland moved over a couple steps and stared at Spike instead. He cupped his hand under Spike’s chin and lifted his head. Spike tried to avoid eye contact. “You know,” Holland said, “I’m usually just partial to the females. But this one is exquisite. Where did you get it?”

“Walker &amp; Sons.”

“Ah. Should have known. Always the best for them.”

He dropped Spike’s chin and planted himself on Xander’s desk. Xander sighed to himself and sat back down.

“Son, Lilah tells me you’ll be ready on time.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent! I’m very pleased with your work, Xander, very pleased indeed.”

“Thank you.”

“So let me ask you, when this project is completed, what kind of reward would you be interested in for your service? Something special.”

“Um, I don’t know. You’ve been treating me well, Holland. I can’t think of anything I need.”

“Yes, but is there anything you _want_? You know, I had title to that house transferred to you last week. And the cabin in the woods you like so much.”

Xander nearly choked. That house was worth over two million dollars, the cabin, probably another five hundred thousand at least. “Uh, jeez, thank you.”

Holland waved his hand. “You’re worth it. But there must be something you have your eye on.”

“Well, Lindsey—“

Holland waved his hand and chuckled. “When we’re in business, that slave’s all yours, son. But I’m talking big, here.”

Xander looked down at his desk for a minute and collected himself. Then he looked up. “Well, you know….”

“Yes?”

“You once said something about my moving up in the firm.”

Holland threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, I knew I was right about you!” He hoisted himself to his feet. “I’ll tell you what, son. If everything continues to run smoothly, as soon as the portal is up and running, we’ll discuss a promotion. How does head of Special Projects sound?”

Xander forced an evil smile on his face. It wasn’t that hard, considering what he was thinking about doing to this man. “But, Holland,” he said with faux innocence. “Lilah—“

Holland waved his hand again. “You let me worry about her. I know she’s been taking credit for the success of this so far, and I know that it’s your hard work that’s getting the job done. Just remember, Xander. This firm rewards true dedication—not ass-kissing and showmanship.”

“Thank you. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

“Excellent.” He headed for the door. “Have a good evening, son.”

The door shut behind him and Xander sank his head into his hands.

 

2.

The three of them had a small frenzy of stripping as soon as they got home. While Xander pulled off his clothes, leaving them in a heap near the door, Spike and Angel unbuckled the gags and unhooked the leashes. Then in the kitchen Xander heated up some blood while Spike made him a sandwich from leftover chicken.

They all sat silently at the table, chewing and sipping, trying to wipe the day from their minds.

Spike didn’t mind so much being paraded around, or even when that twat Lilah or one of the others came over and ogled him. He’d been through that, and worse, before. What he could barely stomach was watching Xander as he struggled to keep calm around the people who sought to destroy him. Sometimes Spike nearly shook with the effort not to leap up and rip them apart.

They were all pretty tense.

All right, then. He had a cure for that, for now, anyhow.

He stood. “Meet you in the atrium,” he said, and went upstairs.

By the time he came back down, the others were finished with their meals and sitting in the grass. Spike smiled and waved the bottle in his hand at them. Massage oil. He’d ordered if off the internet, and it was brilliant stuff. It had a faint coconut scent, not enough to offend vampires’ sensitive noses, and it heated as it was rubbed on. It felt bloody nice for warm-blooded humans and cold-blooded demons.

As soon as Xander saw the bottle, he smiled and flopped over onto his stomach. Spike straddled him and poured some of the oil onto his back, then began rubbing it into his tight shoulders. Angel watched.

By the time Spike got to Xander’s lovely arse, Xander was groaning softly into his arms. Spike slicked some oil between Xander’s cheeks, sneaking a longing look at his tight little hole, and then continued down his thighs and calves. He dismounted.

“Over,” he ordered. Obediently, Xander rolled, and Spike climbed back on board, avoiding Xander’s erect cock. He worked on his arms for quite some time, then his hard chest. He ran his thumbs over the pebbles of Xander’s nipples and Xander hissed appreciatively. He planted a kiss in Xander’s tempting navel, then massaged his hips. He still studiously avoided that tasty cock. Later. Xander’s legs were next, and finally his feet.

Spike climbed off and sat back on his heels, admiring the sheen on Xander’s tanned skin, and feeling very self-satisfied at the way Xander was lying there limply. Well, most of him was limp, in any case.

With a small smack on Angel’s substantial arse, Spike turned to his grandsire. Xander hauled himself to his side to watch as Spike repeated the treatment he’d just given Xander.

When he had finished, all three of them were hard and leaking. He was about to position himself for a pleasant three-way when Xander pushed him back onto the soft grass. Much to his surprise and delight, both of them proceeded to give him a massage as well. They weren’t as accomplished as he was—he’d been given special training by his first master—but it felt bloody wonderful to have those two sets of hands on him, working out the knots in his body and warming him to the core. He felt cherished, cared for.

Eventually, he, too, was covered in tropical-scented slickness. All three of them sprawled across the tiny lawn.

He would have been satisfied to stay like that all night. But then Xander scooted himself over until he was nestled against Spike’s back and started playing gently with Spike’s arse, and that was even better. Angel watched with dark eyes as Xander ran a restless hand up and down his cleft, and then circled his sphincter with a lightly tapping finger. By the time Xander had crooked that finger and slid it into Spike’s ready hole, Angel had wrapped a paw around his own cock and was slowly wanking.

Xander and Spike watched Angel. Angel watched Xander and Spike.

Xander slid in a second finger, and Spike wiggled back on them. Then Angel, who was on his back, spread his legs wide and started fingering his own entry. All of them moved to the same rhythm.

Spike was about to beg Xander for more, and was considering whether to take his own neglected cock in hand, when he felt the blunt head of Xander’s organ pushing against him. He pushed back, and there was the brief moment of pleasure/pain as he was breached, and he let out a long, low moan.

Xander clutched his hips tightly and sucked on the side of his neck, and that was lovely.

But then Angel crawled over. And, to Spike’s complete astonishment, he positioned himself with his back against Spike’s front and tilted his arse back to meet Spike’s cock.

Spike forgot how to breathe.

In all their many years together, both Before and now After, Angel had never once permitted him to top. He couldn’t penetrate Xander because of the bleeding chip, and of course none of the humans who had used him wanted him in them either. He had never been inside a male.

But that was about to change, as Angel reached around behind himself and tried to guide Spike inside.

“An-Angel?” he said. He wished his voice hadn’t squeaked like that. Both Angel and Xander chuckled.

“In, before I change my mind, boy,” said Angel in his most Angelus-like brogue, and Spike almost came before he’d even started.

He collected himself with a few deep breaths and then took his cock into his hand. Cautiously, still not quite believing this was happening, he lined himself up and then pressed slowly, deliciously, inside. Angel groaned.

“Stop!” Spike yelled at both of them, because if any of them moved a bit he was done for. Xander laughed again but stilled, and so did Angel. Spike pulled air in and out of his nose, accustoming himself to the overwhelming sensation of being filled, while simultaneously being encased in Angel’s cool, oh-so-tight passage.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it any more, and he started rocking his hips, and so did the other two. Every time Xander thrust forward he banged into Spike’s prostate and shoved Spike deeper inside Angel, who moaned delectably. Spike was surrounded by the scents of coconut and grass and sweat and Sire and Xander and arousal and he wasn’t surprised at all when, without his conscious choice, his bones crunched and reshaped and his fangs dropped.

And Angel tilted his neck.

With a guttural howl, Spike sank his teeth into that thick, corded length, just as Xander bit his neck with his blunt human teeth. They writhed together, screaming and shouting and plunging and slurping and heat and cold and blood and family and love and a small explosion happened someplace inside Spike echoing from head to cock to balls and he was blind and deaf and just smelling and tasting and feeling and the world went away.

He woke to Xander, who was kissing his fluttering eyelids, and Angel, who was rubbing his shoulder.

“Wha--?”

“You still with us, baby?”

“Ungh,” he replied.

“We finally did it,” laughed Angel. “We found a way to shut him up.”

Spike couldn’t even summon enough energy to lift two fingers.

 

[Part 17](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/31199.html#cutid1)


	27. December 2017 (part 17)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 17**_  
**Chapter Title:** December 2017 (part 17)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

**It's time to open the portal. I'm posting early today because I'm impatient to see what you think. :-)   
**  
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
****

DECEMBER 2017

 

1.

Xander had been given Thursday and Friday off, so they had a nice long weekend together. Xander drove them up to the cabin in the mountains Wednesday night. Thursday night, Spike and Angel caught a bear and had a long, bloody, satisfying fight with it, then let it go. Friday night they caught and fed from a stag. But Saturday they drank tubs of refrigerated cow and stayed with Xander.

They shagged—no, they made love—all weekend, in various combinations of twos and three. They were languid about it, as if they had all eternity together instead of a few short hours. Spike cooked for Xander, who only picked at his food. At one point late Saturday Xander emerged from the bathroom with a plaster on his wrist and juice glasses of red fluid in his hand. At first the pouf was going to refuse, but Spike gave him a savage look. Spike understood—this was Xander’s last gift to them.

It tasted even better than the other times, and Angel’s eyes were wide and his cock hard by the time he sipped the last of his. “When’s the last time you had human?” Xander asked.

Angel frowned for a moment. “Buffy,” he replied shortly.

Xander nodded.

Within minutes, Xander was on his knees before Spike, Spike’s cock stuffed deliciously down his throat, while Angel pounded into Spike from behind.

Early Sunday they drove back, Spike watching the daytime world curiously through the SUV’s necrotinted windows.

They’d spent the day rattling around the house. Spike nervously tidied and swept, as if a messy home was going to matter tomorrow. Angel brooded in a corner while Xander swam and played Wii.

After a dinner Xander didn’t eat, the three of them had another go at each other. Then Angel wandered off somewhere and it was just Xander and Spike, huddled together in their big bed.

Spike mouthed lazily at Xander’s neck. He was as sexually sated as a vampire could be, but he needed the physical contact with his human. Xander’s cock was spent and flaccid, but he clutched at Spike and ran his hands over his back and across his arse. Spike expected that he needed the contact as well.

“Pet?”

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Xander’s hands stilled. “About what?”

“The contract.”

Xander drew in a harsh breath, then let it out with a sigh. “Lindsey told you,” he said flatly.

“No. We already knew by then. We…we looked in your computer files.”

“How?”

“Your password wasn’t exactly hard to figure out. Berk.”

To his surprise, Xander laughed softly. “No, I guess it wasn’t.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because…because Angel’s got enough guilt on his conscience as it is, and I didn’t want it weighing you down. It was a choice I made.”

“How could you do that, love? Give up your soul for…for the likes of me?”

Xander kissed him on the nose. “Because I love you, stupid. Because you’re worth more to me than anything else in the universe, even my soul.”

Spike leaned his head against Xander’s chest and felt a shudder go through his own body. That he, a demon and a slave, should hear these words from someone’s lips. And not just anyone, but Xander Harris, the man he’d trade his own soul for, if he had one.

He was still collared and chipped. He’d still be hunted down and mutilated if he went out on his own. And in a few hours they’d all be facing their death and destruction. But suddenly he felt free and light, as if he’d float right away if it weren’t for the warm embrace of Xander’s strong arms.

 

2.

None of them said anything as they drove to the site. What was there left to say? But Spike kept his strong hand on Xander’s knee.

There were about a dozen vehicles in the freshly paved parking lot. Xander pulled in beside a black BMW, then got out of the car. He clipped leashes onto the vampires’ collars and gave them each a last, furtive kiss. Then they followed him toward the door, crawling as he walked under the dark sky.

A pair of armed security guards flanked the door. But they knew Xander well, and they only nodded at him as he and Spike and Angel entered. Xander could go either to the right or the left; he chose the right. They made their way down a long, straight corridor. It was still strange to Xander to walk these halls in actuality, when he was so used to seeing them as lines on paper. The hall was tiled in gold travertine, and the walls were painted off-white. Beige metal doors were set at regular intervals, but Xander knew he could ignore those. Their destination was at the center of the building.

Finally they came to a set of heavy double doors set into a wall where their path intersected with another long hall. Xander turned and smiled at his vampires, his friends, at the love of his life. Then he opened the doors.

“Xander! You made it, son.” Holland beamed at him. He was standing close to the center of the large, five-walled space, resplendent in crimson robes. A small cluster of humans was near him, faces he recognized from London, plus the delegation of demons from Dxrav’hil. Lilah was there, grinning ferally and clutching at a leather lead. At the other end of the leash Lindsey crouched, looking beaten and trembling slightly. He didn’t look up to see Xander.

Xander felt a slight hesitation in Spike’s leash and he looked more carefully at the little crowd. Fuck. Monsieur Fournier was there, his rubbery lips raised in a smile, and he was looking at Spike. And next to him—shit. Next to him was Riley Finn, who nodded stiffly at Xander.

Xander strode across the packed dirt and shook Holland’s hand. He hoped the man didn’t notice that his was damp and clammy.

“I see you brought your slaves,” Holland said, gesturing at them.

“Yeah. It’s all right, isn’t it? I wanted them to see.”

“It’s fine, son. In fact, if I’d thought of it, I’d have specifically requested that you bring this one.” He toed at Angel’s flank. This is why Xander had subjected Spike and Angel to being dragged into the office for the last several weeks—so Holland would think little of it when they showed up at his side tonight.

“Well!” Holland said briskly. “It’s nearly midnight. Perhaps you should do the honor of opening the top.”

Xander nodded and walked to the wall where the control panel was installed. This had been one of the most difficult parts of the project. It wasn’t easy to design a retractable roof, especially when the space was somewhat oddly shaped. Very few contractors had any experience with them, either. But Holland had insisted that this feature was essential, so they’d forged ahead.

Xander ran his hand over the control panel scanner. Once it gave a little ding that meant it had recognized him, he punched in the code. With a whirring, grinding noise, the large metal sheets overhead began to slide apart. They were built to accordion as they opened, so that they would fit inside the hollow walls in neat, folded sheets.

It took a few minutes—the mechanisms were necessarily pretty slow—but soon all that was above them was the star-speckled sky.

“Well done, Xander!” Holland said, as if Xander had just performed a magic trick. But no, the magic part was yet to come.

In the very center of the space, a shape was spray-painted onto the dirt. Xander had done this part himself, actually, at Holland’s command. The shape was the same as the building itself, a star within a circle, and it was precisely 9.86 feet in diameter—pi squared. The paint was as red as blood.

Several items were arranged in the middle of the pentagram. Xander had put them there, too, the previous week. Some herbs that he’d had people scurrying all over southern California to track down. A couple of colored stones. A tiny metal talisman with the figure of a winged devil; Lilah had handed that to him a couple weeks ago. A large knife with a wicked-looking blade and a carved bone handle. Xander hadn’t seen that before.

Holland rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

He stood just outside the painted symbol. Everybody else in the room gathered in a rough semicircle a few feet in front of him. Spike and Angel were on all fours on either side of Xander, both so close they were pressed against his legs. He was thankful for their touch. Not for the first time, he wished he could have just brought a gun and blown Holland and the other monsters away. But Wolfram &amp; Hart had had the building warded as soon as it was completed, and explosive weapons wouldn’t work within its walls.

Holland pulled out his electronic assistant and pressed a couple buttons. “We’re ready for you,” he said, and then put the gadget back in his pocket.

A few moments later the doors opened and two uniformed security guards entered, leading a person on a leash. He was resisting, causing them to practically drag him by the neck. At first Xander assumed he was a vampire, because he was naked and collared and gagged and heavily bound. He had strange symbols painted on his skin. But as they got closer Xander realized that the guy was awfully tan for a vamp. When the guy got a good look at the pentagram, he removed all doubts about his humanity by pissing himself in fear. Then Xander took a closer look at his face and realized he knew the man. He was one of the lesser lawyers who had plagued his days at Wolfram &amp; Hart.

“You know,” said Holland said to Xander conversationally. “The original plan was to use you as the sacrifice.”

Xander’s heart lurched and he stiffened.

“But you’ve turned out to be such an outstanding asset to the firm that I’d really hate to lose you. Although, of course, you’ll always be with us…in spirit.”

Xander felt Spike shiver against him.

“Anyhow, Roberts here is much more expendable. Gentlemen?”

The guards yanked the thrashing man toward the symbol. One of them held him while the other detached the leash and removed the gag. As the man screamed and started to beg, they shoved him hard. He landed on his knees in the center. He started to get up, but Holland smiled at him and pointed his finger and said a single word: “_Mane_!”

Roberts froze.

Xander could see his muscles straining, and his mouth was open in a soundless scream, but the only part of him that seemed to be able to move was his wildly rolling eyes.

Holland mumbled something and then entered the pentagram. He picked up the knife and stood next to the silently hysterical man. “You thought I wouldn’t notice that money you were skimming, Roberts?”

Roberts managed a tiny, strangled squeal.

Holland’s voice became deep and echoing. “Per is cruor patefacio porta. Per is cruor duos universitas vadum tactus.”

He pulled the terrified lawyer’s head back by his hair, and in one smooth motion, sliced his throat wide open. Instead of spurting, though, Roberts’s blood poured thickly downwards as if the ground were drawing it in. The vampires quivered slightly at the sight and smell of it.

Holland stepped back, releasing the man, who slumped limply onto his side. Then Holland carefully exited the pentagram.

The blood soaked into the dirt, and, as Xander watched, the soil seemed to shimmy and shake, as if there was an earthquake. But the ground under his feet felt as solid as always. Holland continued to mumble in Latin, waving the bloody blade for emphasis.

A haze formed over the surface of the pentagram, shimmering and roiling like oil. It was tinged with a sickly green and a deep red, and the colors gradually intensified until the dirt and the corpse and the small items had disappeared, and all that was visible was a circular, horrible hole.

The edges were still wavering, however, as if the portal hadn’t yet set. Holland chanted on.

Xander tensed himself, ready to try his level best to stop this before it was too late. But before he could move, Spike, Angel, and Lindsey all began to seize and shriek. Xander dropped the leashes and fumbled for the knife in his pocket.

Holland faltered a bit but didn’t stop.

And then Spike and Angel were suddenly gamefaced and leaping forward towards Holland, who yelled and brandished the knife at them. Angel got there first and buried his fangs in Holland’s neck, just as Holland buried the knife in Angel’s chest. Angel bellowed.

And then all was confusion.

People screamed and ran. Angel and Spike were flinging a bloody, screaming Holland into the hole. Xander saw a blur to his right and it was Finn, raising a goddamn stake and running with it in the direction of Spike and Angel. Just before the stake would have entered Spike’s back, Xander threw himself between his love and the plunging piece of wood, and the sharpened wood skewered Xander’s chest instead. The knife dropped from Xander’s hand.

Somebody yelled.

Xander fell.

A moment later, Finn was somehow flying over his head to plunge into the portal as well.

Xander tried to sit up, but his body wasn’t obeying him very well. He saw Lindsey crawling to the edge of the hole, his face buried deeply in Lilah’s neck. She was dragged with him. Lindsey locked eyes with Xander just before he went over the edge, and then he was gone.

Spike had Fournier by the ankles. The man’s face was a bloody horror and one of his eyeballs was hanging from its socket. Spike swung the squealing human into the void. Somebody pushed Spike and he slipped and started to tumble into the portal himself. He caught the edge and scrambled desperately at it, trying to pull himself up, but he couldn’t seem to get a good enough grip. “Spike!” Xander yelled weakly, trying fruitlessly to move himself closer. But then Angel was there, kneeling and reaching down, plucking Spike out of the hole with one strong arm. Spike leaped to his feet and rejoined the fray.

Xander’s head fell back. He was so tired.

There was a lot more screaming, more bodies falling or being pushed or thrown into the churning chasm.

Then it was suddenly quiet, and a vampire was looming over him, its fangs and face and torso thick with gore, its yellow eyes gleaming. He’d always wondered what the bite felt like. Had dreamed about it. Now he’d finally know.

But…the vampire was crying.

That was stupid. Vampires didn’t cry. They terrified and chased and maimed and killed. They didn’t….

Oh.

Spike. It was Spike, his Spike. His love. And he was sobbing something.

Xander tried to focus his dimming mind.

“Close it, love. Close it now.”

With the last of his will, Xander summoned the words he’d recently learned from the firm’s own files, the words that could end this abomination. “Mali sunt in nostro numero et exitio bonorum virorum cogitant. Bonos adiuvate. Claude porta.”

By the time he said the last word, his voice was such a weak whisper, he was afraid it wouldn’t work. But the ground beneath him shuddered, and suddenly the hole was gone, replaced by solid, scuffed dirt.

Spike lifted Xander’s head into his lap.

“Xan…Xan…Xan…” he chanted brokenly.

Oh, there was Angel behind him, bloody and…crying also?

He tried to say something. To tell Spike he loved him.

Angel knelt next to them. “Tell him, Will,” he said quietly.

Spike looked up at Angel desperately. Salty tears coursed through the salty blood. His face shifted back to human and he nearly collapsed into himself.

“Pet. Pet.”

Xander could barely hear him. Something…something was pulling him away. He didn’t want to go.

“Pet, give it to me. Give me your soul, love, your spirit, your self. Now, love.”

Oh, thought Xander. All right.

And then everything went black.

 

3.

Spike keened over the broken body in his lap.

His love. His life. His all.

Angel put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We have to go, Will.”

Spike shook his head.

But then the entire building gave a groaning heave, and Angel grabbed him harder. “We have to go _now_!”

Spike slid Xander into his arms and stood.

“Let’s go!” shouted Angel as the building quaked again.

They took off running, through the double doors and into the long corridor, then to the outer door. Xander slumped in Spike’s arms, feeling nearly weightless. The walls shook and cracked and chunks of ceiling fell down, making their route treacherous. Spike leapt over a large piece of support beam, nearly tripped on broken bits of tile.

They made it to the door.

The guards shouted at them as they exited, but with hardly a pause, Angel viciously wrenched their necks. They collapsed, dead before they hit the ground.

The Escalade was where they had left it. Angel fished in Xander’s blood-soaked pocket and pulled out the keys. Spike slid into the back with Xander across his lap. With a squeal of the tires, Angel drove away.

Spike had a fairly precise idea of how much blood flowed through an adult human body. It seemed like twice that amount was covering Xander. The stake was still protruding from his chest, the stake the thick git had taken to protect Spike. Spike knew that if he removed it, it would only provide an opening for more of Xander’s vital fluids to escape.

Angel drove blindingly fast, skidding around corners and passing other cars as if they were standing still.

Spike heard someone talking and realized it was himself. He was saying, “No no no no….” over and over but it didn’t change anything. Didn’t bring life back to the body in his lap. Xander was still breathing, slowly and shallowly, but Spike could barely hear his heartbeat, and his skin was growing cool.

It was too late for hospital.

Too late.

Angel pulled the SUV into the garage at their house. He came around and opened the door for Spike, and Spike got out, still cradling Xander. Only then did he notice the huge, gaping wound in Angel’s chest.

“Liam?” he said.

Angel looked down. “It’s fine.”

They went inside and Spike carried Xander up to their room, placed him on their bed. He sat next to him and Angel hovered nearby.

With a savage cry, Spike yanked the stake out of Xander and flung it across the room so hard that it actually pierced the drywall and hung there. A gout of blackish blood bloomed from the puncture in Xander’s chest.

But Xander still breathed.

And, hours later, after Angel had brought them big tumblers full of cow, which they both guzzled cold, and they’d torn off the leashes still trailing from their collars, and Spike had carefully peeled off Xander’s clothing, and Angel had gone to wash the filth off of himself and stick some large plasters onto his chest, Xander still breathed.

It was impossible. He’d lost far too much blood, and although the stake might have barely missed his heart, it had surely hit a lung, perhaps even his spine.

But Xander still breathed.

[Part 18](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/31466.html#cutid1)


	28. January 2018 (part 18)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 18**_  
**Chapter Title:** January 2018 (part 18)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

**The penultimate chapter. Many of the mysteries you've been patiently (or not so patiently! *g*) waiting on are solved. This chapter also contains the strangest sex scene I've written thus far. And thanks so much to all of you who have been so very kind with your comments! *crosses fingers* I hope you like!   
**  
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
---  
  
****

JANUARY 2018

 

1.

Spike spooned a little more broth between Xander’s slack lips, then massaged his throat until he swallowed. Then he sighed and put down the bowl. It was all he could get down him, but it wasn’t enough. Xander had grown almost skeletally thin in the past few weeks.

Not that it particularly mattered, because Xander wasn’t really home.

This was just an empty shell that Spike was feeding. A shell that swallowed and pissed, and whose heart beat and lungs inflated and deflated. So, Spike supposed, a shell that was technically alive. But whatever it was that made Xander, Xander was gone.

He and Angel had had long discussions about this. Perhaps Xander’s devastating injury had led to enough blood loss to cause brain damage, so that all that remained was a human vegetable. But Spike didn’t think that was the case. The stake wound had healed extremely quickly, as quickly as had Angel’s knife gash. Something unnatural—supernatural—was in play here.

Spike thought, and Angel agreed, that it was more likely that somehow Xander’s spirit, or soul, or whatever you wanted to call it, had escaped his body. It wouldn’t be that big of a surprise. There’d been enough magic in the air to make Spike’s skin prickle and his hair stand on end.

The real question, then, was where it had gone. The grimmest possibility was that it had gone into that portal, along with Holland Manners and Lilah Morgan and Riley Finn and Lindsey McDonald and that sadistic, fat frog, and the red demons and everybody else who was there except Angel and Spike. In that case, it was stuck in the world on the other side, because the portal was closed, destroyed for good. The thought of Xander imprisoned in some other place like that was more than Spike could bear.

Another possibility was that it had reverted to Wolfram &amp; Hart, as the contract specified. How that might work, where it might be, what the firm might do with it—these were all questions that the vampires couldn’t begin to answer. If Lindsey had told them the truth, though, if that loophole really existed, then Xander’s last act, when he gave away himself, should have nullified the agreement. If Lindsey had told the truth. And if Xander had been able to follow Spike’s commands, just before his eyes had fallen closed.

And the third possibility was that Xander was simply…gone. Perhaps in heaven, or whatever kind of afterlife there was for him, or perhaps nowhere. Extinguished.

So Spike did the best he could to care for what was left, because what else could he do? He’d certainly never thought to find himself, a former master vampire, changing a human’s diapers and wiping his bum, but here he was.

Angel entered the bedroom. “Come hunting, William,” he said.

“No. Not hungry.”

“You have to eat, too.”

“Ate last night. That wild sheep, remember?”

Angel gave a big drama queen sigh. “Spike, you have to—“

“Said I’m not hungry! I’ll hunt tomorrow.”

“Fine. I’m going out.” And he left.

Spike got up and looked out the window at the dark forest. They’d come here a couple of days after the battle. It seemed wise to put some distance between themselves and Wolfram &amp; Hart for a while. Besides, they were quickly running out of animal blood, and they couldn’t easily get more without Xander’s help. Of course, Spike could hunt humans now that the chip was deactivated, but Angel refused to let him, and it would likely bring unwelcome attention on them if he did.

So they’d put on some of Xander’s clothing, and how strange that had felt after all those years of nudity! Angel had taken off his collar, but Spike still wore his. It had been a gift from Xander. They’d packed a few things and then piled in the Escalade, and Angel had driven them up to the mountains.

Passing for human, Angel periodically drove down to the store to pick up a few supplies. Liquid vitamins and adult diapers for Xander, mostly. Spike had used the meat from their kills to make a rich broth for him.

They couldn’t stay here forever, but for now they were safe. And they really had no place else to go. They couldn’t just drag Xander’s body around with them.

Spike moved away from the window and flicked on the telly, then collapsed in the big chair next to the bed. The news was on.

The reporter was telling about the sudden malfunction that had permanently incapacitated the slaves’ inhibitor chips. They had tried to interview the CEO of the company that created them, DRI, but he was mysteriously missing. Spike smiled wolfishly at that. He’d thrown the fucker into the portal himself, right after he’d impaled Xander.

The reporter went on to talk about the many tragic deaths that had ensued around the world as vampires suddenly found themselves unrestrained by technology. There was grainy footage of a man being taken down, screaming, by two naked demons. The demons still had fresh lash marks on their backs, and you could just make out that one of them had been castrated. Spike felt a flash of glee—a violent death was exactly what the wankers deserved—followed by a flash of remorse. Loads of people were dying because of what he did.

A moment later, the reporter was interviewing an expert on vampires. Spike’s breathing stopped when he recognized the face on the screen. She was older, to be sure, but there was no question of her identity.

“My ex-husband and his company were wrong,” she said, pushing her blonde hair back from her face. “Demons should never have been enslaved. Chips can fail.” Spike thought he caught a bit of a sparkle in her eyes at that. She’d come through after all, hacking into the DRI system and disabling the chips. It was a good job she still knew how to access Finn’s files. And she’d done it at exactly the right time, just as Xander had instructed her. Any earlier and Holland and that lot would have known about it, would never have let the vampires into the building, let alone practically in their laps. Any later and the portal would have been permanently opened and all would be lost. Xander said she’d promised to destroy the files as well, so that nobody could reactivate the software.

She looked seriously at the interviewer. “If demons are willing to live in human society and follow human rules, they should be left alone. But if they’re not, if they try to harm people, then they should be hunted down and exterminated.”

The reporter, a young bloke with gelled hair, looked skeptical. “And you can do that, Ms. Summers?”

She smiled confidently at the camera. “I can. Me and my friends.” She waved behind her. The camera panned back a bit. They were standing in someone’s flat, it looked like. Behind her were two men holding crossbows. One of them was a few years older than her, tall and lanky, with dark hair and glasses. He smiled awkwardly at the camera and then scowled, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be friendly or fierce. The other man was older, and—bloody hell. That was the Watcher. Giles rolled his eyes as if he were impatient for the interview to end.

And then it did, and the camera switched back to the news set, where some bint started yammering on about how the demon liberation was going to affect the economy.

Spike grabbed the remote and switched the telly back off. He’d have to tell Angel about Buffy when he got back. Spike thought the old ponce would be pleased. And Spike himself was pleased to see Giles alive and well, after—

Hold on.

Spike didn’t care about the bloody Watcher. Why should he?

And…wait. What was that bit with feeling sorry for the humans who’d got themselves eaten? He’d like to eat them himself. He’d—

Bloody _hell_.

“Xander?” he whispered.

_Thought you’d never call_, said a teasing voice.

Spike scrambled out of the chair so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. He looked at the bed. There was Xander, face still drooping, body still motionless.

_Not there, dope_.

Spike looked wildly around.

_In here_, said the voice, and Spike felt a funny little tap inside his head.

His knees gave out and he ended up on the pine floor on his arse. “Xander?” he said again.

_More or less_.

Jesus Christ. Xander was—

_In your head. You told me to give me to you. I did._

“Is that really you? Am I going mad?”

_It’s really me, baby, and let me tell you, a vampire’s head is a strange place to be._

“You’ve been there all along?”

_Yep._

“Why the bloody hell didn’t you say so!” Spike leapt to his feet and started pacing, shooting occasional glares at the body on the bed. “I’ve been thinking you were gone for good, maybe lost through that hole, and—“

_I tried, Spike. It isn’t easy, you know. It’s not like I’ve haunted anyone’s brain before._

“Can’t haunt if you’re not dead,” said Spike, gesturing at the living corpse.

_Well, call it something else, then. Feels like haunting to me._

“How’d you manage to talk to me now, then?”

_You called me._

“That’s all it took?”

_Guess so._

“Bugger. I could have—“

_Go easy on yourself. Who knew? You didn’t exactly have a manual._

Spike sat down again, holding his head in his hands. This was very strange, even for him.

_How’d you do this, Spike? How’d you know I could…give you myself?_

“The…the lawyer told us. Lindsey. He said he’d put a loophole in the contract. But we couldn’t tell you, or it wouldn’t work. Christ, Xander, I had no idea if it would work anyway.”

_Well, how come my body’s still alive and I’m in here?_

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. He just said if you freely gave your soul to someone you loved, the contract would be voided.”

_Oh._

“So you really do love me.”

_Told you so, bonehead._

“Git.”

_The body thing. Kind of gross. Must be some kind of mystical connection or something, since my soul’s still around._

“You should have died, Xan. That bloody stake….” Spike shuddered.

_Does it hurt? My being in here?_

“No. I can’t…can’t feel you at all, pet. Just hear you. What’s it like for you?”

_I can sense whatever you do. And I can rummage around a little in your thoughts if I want, but I haven’t done much of that. I think…I think I could influence you if I tried. Be your Jiminy Cricket. But I haven’t tried much of that either because honestly? It kind of squicks me._

“How…how’d you get in there, love?”

_I don’t know. I just gave me to you, right? And then…nothing. Then we were here, at the cabin. Spike, what happened at the site, after I…went away?_

“You closed the portal, love. But not before every one of those tossers went through. Then the building collapsed.”

_Huh. Lindsey?_

“He fell, too.”

Spike felt a small wave of sorrow wash through him.

_He tried to help, towards the end, you know?_

“Yeah. Wouldn’t have had to if—“

_I know. But still. I wonder what happened to him on the other side._

Spike heard the door slam downstairs. Angel returning from the hunt, no doubt. He started down the stairs to talk to his grandsire, a wicked little smile on his face. This ought to be fun.

 

2.

“It’s a good thing you like to watch, pet.”

_Oh, I can do better than that. I feel what you do, remember?_

“And?”

_This feels really fucking good._

Spike laughed.

“Stop that!”

“Stop what, Sire? Stop this?”

“Nooo. You keep right on doing that. I meant stop talking to Xander.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t hear him, and it’s really annoying.”

“You want me to ignore him?”

“Not all the time, Will. Just while we’re….”

“Shagging?”

“Yeah.”

_Be nice, Spike. We can talk later._

“All right. I’ll…oh, right like that, Liam. Yeah.”

 

3.

There were worse places to be than Spike’s head. Lots of worse places, actually. Still, it was really damn frustrating.

First off, he had to watch while Spike spoon fed his wasted body, and gave it sponge baths, and wiped its ass. And he couldn’t feel any of that.

Second, he couldn’t feel Spike. Sure, Spike obligingly ran his hands over himself when Xander asked him to, and was pretty enthusiastic about jerking off for their mutual benefit. But it wasn’t the same. Xander wanted his hands on Spike. He wanted to be next to Spike, against Spike, in Spike’s arms. Not in him. Or at least, not in him in this particular way. And hell, he’d love for Spike to be in him for a change, now that he could. Now that the chip was defunct.

Xander still couldn’t believe that they’d managed to pull it off. Oh, he wasn’t stupid or delusional. He knew Wolfram &amp; Hart still existed. And there was always another apocalypse around the corner. But this one, at least, was averted, and Holland Manners and his closest cronies were gone.

They’d come out of it pretty well, actually. Xander still had a large bank account, which Spike and Angel could access. He still owned the two houses. And, while the Walsh Act was still technically on the books, there was no real way for it to be enforced now. They said on the news last night that there was talk in Sacramento of repealing the Act and replacing it with a new one that would grant freedoms to well-behaved demons. Leave it to California to recognize demon rights. Other jurisdictions would probably follow California’s lead.

So Angel and Spike were relatively free, at least as free as they’d been in long years. Xander had worried at first that Spike might want to eat people—not that there were any to eat up here, but eventually—but he didn’t seem that interested. Maybe Xander’s presence in his skull had more influence than he realized.

But Spike and Angel couldn’t be completely free, because they were burdened by Xander. By both his useless, physical shell as well as his metaphysical self. He’d urged Spike to just kill off the shell. _Drain it_, he’d said. Spike told him he wasn’t sure that would do the trick. It had apparently survived what should have been a mortal wound quite handily. _Fine, then, just starve it_, he’d replied. But Spike had refused. He was attached to the stupid thing. He missed Xander’s touch too, Xander thought. He’d seen how tenderly Spike cared for the shell, even brushing its teeth and combing its hair.

All told, he shouldn’t complain.

Still, it was really damn frustrating.

 

4.

_I have an idea._

“Yeah, pet?”

_Give me back._

“Huh?” Spike rinsed the shampoo from his hair and turned off the tap. He felt good—spot of violence out of his system, belly full of deer, nice wank in the shower as Xander talked dirty in his head.

He stepped out of the bath and dried off, then, after a quick comb through his hair, wandered down the stairs. He still didn’t wear clothes often. Didn’t seem to be much point in it, when it was just him and Peaches and the bloke in his head. Besides, Xander’s kit didn’t fit him very well and he hadn’t had the chance to get anything else.

He plonked down in front of the fire. Angel was reading a book. Probably something boring and in French. Or German.

_Give me back._

“I don’t know what you mean, love.”

Angel shot him an irritated look. “Can’t you two talk in your head?”

They could, actually, and sometimes they did, but it tended to give him a headache.

“Just give us a mo, all right?”

Angel sighed unhappily and went back to his book.

_Be nice_.

“Oi, that was nice. Now, what are you on about?”

_You ended up with my spirit when I gave it to you. Why don’t you just give it back? You do love me, right?_

“Of course I love you, you pillock. But I don’t know if that will work. You were dying when that happened, love.”

_And you’re already dead._

“So what do I do? Just—_I give thee back_—and poof, there you are?”

_I don’t know. Can’t you try?_

“What if you end up…lost? Floating around the stratosphere somewhere?”

Angel had put down his book in his lap and was following Spike’s half of the conversation with interest.

_I promise you. If I don’t end up back in my body, I’ll come back and haunt you for eternity. You can’t get rid of me that easily, baby._

That made Spike think of something else. “If you do go back—if this bloody works—you’re going to get old, pet. You’ll get old and die. Stay here with me instead.”

_Oh, baby, that’s a nice offer. But we don’t know what happens to me when my body goes. Maybe I go, too._

“I don’t think so.”

_Maybe not. But I don’t want to spend forever like this. Like some kind of…parasite. Please understand, honey._

Spike did understand. He wouldn’t be satisfied stuck in someone’s cranium either. But it made him angry that Xander was right, so, without another word, he stood up and stomped up the stairs. He knew Angel was trailing along behind him, but he ignored the Irish sod and went into the bedroom, where he gave Xander’s body an evil glare.

Stupid bloody incorporeal adored arsehole.

Right.

He braced himself next to the bed, looked down at the slack-faced shell in front of him, and said, loudly, “I give you back. Bugger off. Back where you belong, then.”

And then he stood there as nothing happened.

_I don’t think that was done in the spirit of love, baby._

“I’m a bloody vampire, Xander! What do you want from me? Roses and chocolates?”

_You could write me a love poem. Something…effulgent._

“Oi!” He whirled and aimed his glare at the big nancy, who gaped dumbly at him.

“What? What did I do?”

“You told him about the sodding poetry!”

Angel guffawed. “I did not.”

It was hard to believe him as he stood there sniggering.

_He didn’t say anything, Spike_.

“Then how the hell did you know?”

_You mentioned poetry to me once. And I told you I poked around in your brain a little._

“But that’s…that’s not bloody fair! I don’t know what skeletons you have in your closet.”

_Ah, but you knew me when I was fifteen. That’s enough, isn’t it?_

“You wore horrible clothes.”

_I did._

“You dated that cheerleader!”

_Yep. And if you put me back where I belong I promise to tell you all my most embarrassing secrets, and you don’t have to tell me any of yours, like the time you were thirteen and you watched—_

“Oi! Enough!” Spike stomped his bare foot. “I can’t wait to get your bloody annoying voice out of me. But I don’t know how.”

“Spike!”

He turned and looked at Angel, who was still trying to suppress a grin. “What?”

“At the portal, you and Xander were touching when he…whatever he did.”

Spike blew out a puff of air and walked a little closer to the bed, then took Xander’s hand in his. As soon as he did, all the anger went out of him in a rush. The hand felt so familiar, yet not. He could feel the thready pulse, the brittle bones, through the skin nearly as cold as his.

“Xander,” he said, in a much softer tone. “I love you. I give you back yourself.”

Still nothing.

_Still here._

Bugger.

“Xan, I don’t know what to do.”

_Um. I sort of have an idea._

Spike didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”

_I think, um, maybe if you were…in me._

“What?!” Spike yelped and leapt away from the bed as if he’d been stung.

_C’mon. You’ve been wanting to top me since…I dunno. A while. Now’s your chance. Oh, and biting. Biting would be of the good._

Despite himself, Spike’s cock twitched. But…. “No! That’s just wrong!”

_I know the shell’s not real pretty now, Spike, but—_

“’S not that! It’s…. You’re not in there.”

_I’ve been banging a corpse for over three years now, Spike. Occasionally two corpses. You have, too._

“Yeah, but…we’re _animated_ corpses. Willing ones. That’s…. It’s not right.”

_Great. I’m stuck in a vampire with morals. _

“Xan, I can’t—“

_Look. It’s my body, isn’t it? I want you to fuck it. Please. You have my permission. Okay?_

Spike crossed his arms over his chest.

“Will? What’s going on?”

Spike turned to Angel. “He wants me to shag…that.” He pointed at the bed.

Angel’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“He seems to think that might help, but—“

“Maybe it will.”

Spike was struck speechless. The Great Souled One thought it was a good idea, too?

“Look, Spike. Sex can be pretty powerful stuff, right? And if you bite him, too—“

“That’s what he said,” sulked Spike.

“Well, he’s right. We both know what the bite can do.”

Spike scowled at Angel, and then scowled at the body. “I don’t know if I’m even able,” he mumbled.

_Sure you can. I’ll say nasty things in your head. C’mon. This may be the one and only chance I ever have to fuck myself, and I’m kinda curious what that feels like._

Right, then. Perhaps he was able. His cock seemed to suddenly think so.

Angel smirked. “Looks like you’ve made up your mind. I’ll, uh, I’ll be downstairs if you need me, okay?”

“Not gonna stay and watch?”

“No. I think four’s a crowd.” He came close for a moment, though, long enough to kiss Spike. “Good luck. You too, Xander.”

_Tell him thank you_.

“Ta from the pain in my head.”

Angel shut the door behind him.

Spike sighed and climbed into bed. “All right, then, genius, now what?”

_Lose the diaper. So not sexy._

Spike gently removed the plastic from around the body’s hips. He rolled it up and tossed it into a corner. Xander looked so vulnerable like this, naked, thin, and unmoving.

_Better. Now lie back. Yeah, like that. And—does it help if you look at me, or just make things worse?_

“I’m…I’m not sure.”

_Well, start by closing your eyes, okay? Good. Now, rub your left hand on your chest a little. Nice. Your skin is so smooth, baby. Like watered silk. And I love how strong and tight the muscles feel underneath. You’re like…like a weapon covered in velvet. Pretty and deadly._

This was working.

_Now, play with your nipples, please. I like your nipples. I like to look at them, all nice and pink, and feel them when they’re hard like this. I had no idea how sensitive they were, though. Jesus. You give me back my body and I’ll spend a month touching them. I’ll rub them between my fingers—they’re bigger than yours, and calloused, is that okay?—and then I’ll put them in my mouth and suck on them. Maybe bite just a little bit. Would you like to get them pierced again?_

“Yeah,” he responded hoarsely.

Definitely…working.

_Good. Move your hand down, baby. I want to touch your balls. Honestly, that’s about the one thing I have to thank those fuckers for—I love how smooth the skin on your balls feels. They fit so nicely in my hand. In yours, too. I wish I could put them in my mouth. Even a vampire’s not that agile, huh? _

“Uhh.”

_I want to feel your cock now. Please, honey? Oh, yeah. Could you play with the foreskin a little? That’s new for me. Mmm. Yeah, like that. You’re so wet already, baby. Such a nice, big cock. Pretty. I like the way it bends just a little, and—Ooh. The ring. Will you keep it, dear? For me?_

“Yeah.” He probably couldn’t manage more than monosyllables right now.

_Thanks. It feels nice for you, too, doesn’t it? When you pull it just a little like that? Oh, fuck, Spike, that’s good. Faster, okay? Just a little._

Obediently, Spike sped his strokes. It was so much sweeter, knowing he wasn’t just doing this for himself, that Xander was feeling every tingle and throb as much as he did. Knowing that what felt best to him was exactly what would feel best to Xander.

_Um, Spike? Hold off a bit. You still need to get in me, remember? Want me to think of baseball?_

“The sport with the tight trousers and the long, hard poles, pet?”

_Christ. I never thought of it like that. Thanks. You’ve just ruined the baseball thing for me._

“Evil, remember?”

_Roll me onto my stomach, Spike._

Spike sighed and did as he was told, but he stole a kiss first. He arranged the body as comfortably as he could, with its arms bent gently upwards, and a pillow under its hips.

“Pet? Have you done this before?”

_What? Had sex with myself while in the head of my vampire lover? That’s a no._

“Bottomed.”

_Oh. Yeah, sure. I’m sort of a switch, actually. It’s been a while, though._

“How long?”

_I dunno. Other than that time with Lindsey, I haven’t touched anyone but you and Angel since I found you._

“Really? Why not? You could have.”

_Because I love you, idiot. Even before I knew it, I loved you._

Spike reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a bottle of slick. He poured a little on his fingers and then carefully pressed his fingers between Xander’s cheeks.

_Okay. That’s…a little weird._

“Your idea, love.”

_I know. You don’t have to be so cautious with it. I can’t feel anything anyway._

“But if this works you’ll be back in there, and I don’t want you waking up to a torn arse.”

_Thanks, honey._

Spike scissored his fingers slightly. The shell didn’t respond at all, and perhaps that was good. At least it wouldn’t tense as he entered it. When he’d prepared Xander a bit, he poured some more slick onto his cock.

_Hey! Cold! Oh…that feels good, though_, he added, as Spike rubbed it in just a bit.

Spike got up on his knees and looked down at Xander’s body.

_I have a weird ass, don’t I? Yours is so much nicer._

“You have a perfectly delicious arse, pet. Needs a little more meat on it right now. We’ll fix that up when you’re sorted. I’ll bake you some nice chocolate cakes.”

_How about if you just pour some chocolate sauce on you and I lick it off? Vampire sundae._

“That sounds like a plan.”

Spike spread Xander’s legs a bit more and settled himself between them. Slowly, he positioned his cock against Xander’s hole, and then he breached the ring of muscle. He’d half expected the body to pull away and complain. But it just lay there.

_Ohh. That’s good, Spike._

It was. He’d only topped Angel; never a human man. And although Xander’s skin was chill, his insides were still nice and warm, and they gripped his cock like a heated glove.

“Will you let me do this again, when you’re there?”

_I’ll beg you to do it again. Oh. You like that. You like the thought of me begging you? Hmmm. How will it be? Me on all fours, my ass up in the air, and me swinging it around and pleading with you to fuck me hard. Or maybe…me on my back. Yeah. So you can see my face. I’ll pull up my knees and spread myself for you, baby, and say, “Please, baby, please fuck me now.” And you can watch how much I like it as you pound into me. Or maybe you’ll go slow, make me beg some more._

Spike wasn’t going slow now. He was thrusting quickly, shoving that yielding body into the mattress, and Xander’s voice purring in his gray matter was as nice as Xander’s body sheathing him so well.

_Spike, baby, you’re getting close. I’m getting close. Fuck. Are we going to come together? Change quick, honey._

Spike did.

_Holy shit! I had no idea. I mean, I knew when we went hunting, but that was nothing compared…fuck…fuck…fuck…bite me, honey!_

With a strangled cry, Spike struck, his fangs sinking into that strong neck just as he’d fantasized about for so long. And there was the familiar taste, flowing into his mouth, straight from Xander’s heart.

_Oh, fuck! Jesus…Spike…God…._

Spike’s hips pummeled into Xander and he was deep inside, inside his love just as his love was inside him, would always be in him, even when he let him go, let him go, oh, go, love, go, but don’t ever leave….

And Spike spilled into Xander, his cock spurting over and over until he was dry and empty and….

Empty.

He pulled out and retracted his fangs and sat up.

“Xander?”

Nothing.

“Xan? Are you there, love?”

No response.

He flipped the body onto its back. The eyes were still closed, it was still unmoving.

Oh, no. Oh, no.

“Xander! Xander!” he yelled. His heart was breaking again. How could he bear this?

He heard Angel thundering up the stairs, and then he was flinging open the door.

“Will? Xander? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“He’s gone. He’s gone, Liam.”

Angel sat next to him and enfolded him in his arms.

“I shouldn’t have—“

“You had to, Will.”

“But now—“

“You did what he wanted. He knows you love him.”

Spike could only weep against Angel’s chest. God, why did he agree to do that? How could he, when—

“Spike?”

Spike froze. Had he really heard that?

“Spike?”

It wasn’t in his head. But it was so quiet, so—

He pushed away from Angel and turned to look at the body.

His eyelashes were fluttering.

He squirmed over to Xander and picked up a hand and squeezed it. And the hand squeezed back. Weakly, but it did it.

“Xan?” he whispered.

“Here.”

“Oh, fuck. Xander!” Now he was clutching Xander and crying instead, and he was still thin of course, but warm. Nice and bloody warm. And his heartbeat was strong and steady.

Angel stood and came to the other side of the bed, and he took Xander’s other hand in his.

Xander managed to peel his eyes all the way open. He smiled weakly. “When….”

Spike tucked his head under Xander’s chin. “What, love?”

“When can you bite me again?”

 

[Part 19](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/31542.html#cutid1)


	29. December 2019 (part 19)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander), [wow](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wow)  
  
---|---  
  
_**With or Without, part 19**_  
**Chapter Title:** December 2019 (part 19)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** Things went differently in season 4. Spike never escaped from the Initiative, and vampires have been enslaved. Fifteen years later, Xander finds him, and then there are adventures with some evil lawyers.   
**Warnings: **It's a slave fic, so expect all the things that go with that.   
**Author's Note:** I guess posting at night is going to work better for me. In any case, I'll post a new chapter daily until we're done. Thank you to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful banner!

**We've come to the final chapter. I hope you've enjoyed. Thank you for reading!   
**  
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=With+or+Without&filter=all).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000k2kg/)  
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****

DECEMBER **2019**

 

 

1.

“What are you thinking about, honey?”

“Huh? I’m—Oi! Don’t do that! It’ll scar.”

“Hasn’t yet,” Xander grumbled. But he stopped messing with the puncture wounds on his neck and took a sip of his espresso instead.

He actually wished it would scar. He’d like to permanently carry a reminder of Spike. Vampire marks had become sort of a status symbol among certain types lately, kind of like tattoos. At least, they had in San Francisco, which earlier this year had opened the nation’s very first officially sanctioned bathouse. Bathouse wasn’t the technical name, of course. They were actually called Vampire-Human Exchange Centers. Which Xander thought was pretty stupid, and everybody had immediately called them by their nicknames instead.

Spike hated the nickname. He complained that vampires couldn’t really turn into bats, that it was all Dracula’s fault for perpetuating these stupid myths. Xander had been flabbergasted to learn that Dracula had really existed, but Spike didn’t like to talk about him. He had some sort of ancient grudge. So Xander had asked Angel, but his face had tightened and he wouldn’t discuss him either. Touchy vamps.

In any case, by any name, people went to them and vamps fed off the people. Humans got that wonderful sexual high that Xander had come to know oh so well. Vamps got a nice meal that they didn’t have to kill for, and that saved them from the potential wrath of Slayers, Inc. Buffy’s people were everywhere nowadays. And while she was the only true Slayer, she’d trained her employees really well, and they could all sling a mean stake.

Angel and Spike didn’t go to the bathouses. Angel preferred to sulk over his animal blood, although he had a nip of Xander every now and then. And Spike said it would be like fucking a whore and he’d feel like he was cheating on Xander. Although Xander wouldn’t have stopped Spike if he’d wanted to go, privately he agreed and rejoiced.

Xander finished off his espresso and waved down the waiter for another. He’d need some caffeine, because they were heading next to City Lights, and Spike could spend hours there, poking through the shelves and browsing through endless books while Xander wondered if the whole place would fall in on them if there was an earthquake.

The waiter—a cute honey blond with a sexy Italian accent—brought his refill. He snuck a flirty little grin in, too, and Spike was too busy spacing out to notice and growl.

After the waiter left, Xander took another sip. “Earth to Spike.”

Spike’s eyes focused and he smiled wryly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. What’s on your mind?”

“Was worrying whether you’d make me go to that restaurant again.”

“Don’t worry. Never again. You’re safe.”

Several weeks ago they’d had an argument about something stupid on date night, and to punish Spike Xander had insisted that they eat dinner at the Stinking Rose. Vampires weren’t really repelled by garlic, but they had sensitive noses, and in such strong concentrations it did bother them. Spike had had his revenge that night by refusing to kiss Xander, refusing to sleep with him even, insisting the scent was coming from his pores.

So tonight they’d gone out for Chinese instead, and then walked over to North Beach for coffee and books. But something was clearly weighing on Spike.

“Honey? Really. What’s bugging you?”

Spike sighed and took a sip of his drink, which was hot chocolate. Mmm. All the better for kissing. He fussed a bit with the zipper of his leather jacket.

“I was thinking about the lawyer.”

“The law—Lindsey?”

“Yeah.”

“Why, Spike?”

“Wondering what happened to him.”

“Well, he fell through the portal. Christ knows what happened on the other side.”

Spike sighed and swallowed some chocolate.

“What’s bothering you about it, honey?”

“He…he was a right bastard. But at the end…he helped save you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did.” Was Spike actually worried about Lindsey’s fate? That…that was really weird.

“You ready, pet?”

Xander drained his cup and paid the bill. He and Spike linked arms and the waiter made a small sad face at them, then waved.

It was chilly out, but the bookstore was just up Columbus. It didn’t close for another two hours, so Xander settled himself for a long wait.

He thought about Lindsey. He was unhappy about him, too, but he didn’t see any way to do anything about it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to try opening more portals. He supposed a part of him would always wonder about him, would silently wish that he’d ended up okay.

He was shocked to discover that his own soulless demon cared, too.

At long last, Spike chose a couple volumes of beat poetry and Xander paid for them. They joked a little about Spike being a kept vampire, but it really didn’t bother Xander. He still had plenty of cash squirreled away from his time with Wolfram &amp; Hart. Angel had been able to retrieve some assets he’d hidden away over the years, too. And although they’d bought a nice house near the Mission district—it even had a back deck with a hot tub—they still had money left over from the sale of the house in LA. They were all happy to be away from Southern California, and not quite so much under Wolfram &amp; Hart’s noses. Eventually, they realized, they were probably going to have to deal with the law firm again. But not now. They were still healing.

They’d kept the cabin. It was actually a shorter drive from San Francisco than it had been from LA, and the vamps enjoyed their occasional hunts. Having been a hitchhiker for a few of those hunts when he was stuck in Spike’s head, Xander could understand why.

Once outside, Spike stuck the books in his jacket pocket. They linked arms again and ambled slowly down the block. It was a long walk home, but they were in no hurry. Angel was probably just getting home from his painting class right now, and he didn’t expect them home until nearly dawn on date nights anyway.

“You going to take that job, love?”

“I dunno. It’ll keep me busy. But I’m afraid it’ll suck away too much of my time.”

“You like building things, though.”

“Yeah. But I’m thinking…I’m kinda tired of commercial work. I started out building houses, you know? Maybe I’d like to design some now.”

“You’ll be brilliant at it, Xan.”

“Thanks.” He turned his head to steal a quick kiss, which turned into a longer kiss, and they had to stop walking and two men who passed them made an appreciative sound as they went.

When they finally pulled apart from each other, they held hands and started walking again. They were companionably quiet for a long time. In fact, they were nearly home when Xander broke the silence.

“How about you, Spike? You’re not too bored?”

“Nah. I like it here. And I don’t really care where I am as long as you’re there.” He deliberately bumped his shoulder into Xander’s. Xander was the luckiest guy on the planet—his undead boyfriend was drop-dead sexy _and_ incurably romantic.

“Angel seems happy too, huh? But not too happy.”

Spike snorted. “The pouf will always make sure to drag a bit of misery with him, like Marley’s chains. But yeah, he’s as content as he’s ever been. Likes his scribbling classes.”

“He’s really good, you know. He said one of his teachers was—“

“Shh!” Spike halted and held up a hand. He cocked his head to one side.

“Something’s having some fun over there,” he whispered, pointing to a dark space between two buildings.

Spike stalked over. He held up his hand for Xander to stay, but Xander ignored him. He wasn’t about to let Spike walk into danger without backup, even if it wasn’t very good backup.

Now even Xander could hear the noises—some frantic scurrying and rustling noises, punctuated by occasional thunks and low moans.

Spike stood on the sidewalk where he was illuminated by a streetlight, and he vamped out. “Oi!” he called. “Don’t suppose you’d let a bloke join in the party, yeah?”

The sounds stopped completely for a minute and then got louder. Suddenly, a blood-streaked young couple came running out of the dark space and onto the sidewalk. The girl was barefoot and her blouse was ripped open. She was limping, too. The boy had a gash on his forehead and his right arm was held at an odd angle, obviously broken. They didn’t stop to chat, though—they just sped away as fast as they could.

A second later, two creatures appeared.

Xander groaned to himself. He recognized the species—Rnotehati. He’d encountered them a couple times in high school, on patrol with Buffy. They hadn’t been exterminated because, he heard, they were useful for certain types of brute labor. They were tough fuckers with long, deadly talons and enormous strength. Buffy had killed them, but she had had weapons, and she only had to take on one at a time. The only weapon they had now, aside from Spike’s natural vampiric ones, was the small folding knife in Xander’s pocket. He took it out and opened the blade.

“You let them get away!” rumbled one of the demons.

“Yeah? They didn’t look like much anyhow. Maybe you’d fancy a go with me instead.”

Without any further discussion, the demons attacked Spike.

Xander watched helplessly for several minutes, hovering close by but knowing he’d only be in Spike’s way if he got any nearer. Spike was faster than they were, whirling and spinning and kicking like…well, like a demon. He was able to strike home occasionally, Xander could tell, because sometimes one of the Rnotehati would bellow in pain, and there was greenish ichor dripping from Spike’s fangs. Once or twice Xander was able to dance in and stab at something and then dance away.

One of the demons shrieked especially loudly, and Spike tossed away the appendage he’d just removed from it. Xander would have cheered, but the demons kept at the vampire, and Xander could tell that Spike was starting to tire. Some of the blood on him was red, and his own.

Then one of the demons shot out a goddamn tentacle—fuck, but Xander hadn’t even known they possessed them—and managed to get it wrapped around Spike so that his arms were pinned to his body. He still tried to kick and wrench himself away, but he was weakening and couldn’t tear free. Then the demon that wasn’t holding him impaled Spike with its talons and gashed a huge hole in Spike’s belly.

Spike screamed.

As the sound left his lover’s throat, Xander lost all ability to think rationally. He launched himself into the fray, a tremendous roar ripping from his lungs, the ridiculously small knife held high.

He felt a jolt of enormous satisfaction as the blade sank deeply into one of the creatures’ eyes. It was the demon with the tentacle, and it immediately dropped Spike and backed away. Unfortunately, in doing so, it wrenched the handle from his hand, leaving him defenseless.

The second demon turned toward him. For a split second, he considered running away, but that would leave Spike at the demons’ mercy. He couldn’t do that. He’d never abandon him again.

Spike was crawling slowly, agonizingly toward him, his entrails dragging—

The demon was upon him, its claws raised at chest height.

“Xander!!” Spike howled, and then there was a feeling of a breeze where no breeze should be, and then horrific agony.

“Spike,” he tried to say, but he had no air to say it with.

 

2.

Spike fought the blackness. He fluttered his eyes open and tried to focus, to see what was looming in front of him.

Angel.

It was Angel and over his shoulder Spike could see a picture hanging on the wall. It was a drawing Angel had done of Spike and Xander, and that meant he was in their bed, and—

“Xander!” he croaked. He tried to sit up, but a meaty hand held him down.

“Don’t,” Angel growled. “You’ll tear the stitches, and I am not going to go stuffing your guts back inside you again today.”

Spike tried desperately to get his fuzzy mind under control. There had been those demons, and then pain, and he couldn’t move, and then Xander…. Oh, that thick, mad human, rushing at Rnotehati with a bloody pocket knife! He couldn’t get there in time, couldn’t stop the swipe of the talons, the—

“Xan!” he cried brokenly, his world falling apart.

Angel was shaking him lightly by the shoulders. “William! Will! Calm down!”

Spike looked at him through eyes swimming with tears. “Xander, he…the demons, and…he had this tiny blade, and the eye, but…Xander….”

“Spike. He’s here. He’s in my bed.”

“He’s…what?” Had Angel brought his corpse here so Spike could mourn over it?

“He was thrashing around a lot and I was afraid he was going to injure you, so I moved him to my bed instead.”

Thrashing? But…. “Liam. I saw. His throat was torn out.”

“I know. But he’s not dead.”

Not dead? Impossible. “His throat…it was _gone_, Liam. It was….”

“I know. I carried him up here. He was just about fucking decapitated. But he’s alive.”

“….how…?”

“I don’t know. Look, I’m going to go check on him. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Spike could only nod speechlessly. Had he gone mad? Because none of this made any sense.

His mind was still chasing itself in circles a minute later when Angel re-entered. He was carrying a large, bare body. Xander.

Gingerly, Angel set him down on the bed next to Spike.

Spike tried to roll over for a better look, but terrible pain went crashing through him when he tried to move. “Stay still!” ordered Angel. “Your goddamn stitches.”

So Spike carefully just turned his head to the side.

To discover Xander, grinning weakly back at him.

There was a huge, gaping wound in Xander’s neck. It wasn’t as bad as Spike had thought, but it certainly looked fatal. But it wasn’t bleeding, and the edges looked…smooth. As if they were healing.

“Xander?” he whispered.

Xander’s mouth moved, but only a minute rasping noise came out. Xander tried again, with the same result. Then he frowned and silently mouthed one word: “Spike.”

“What the hell is happening?”

“I’m not sure. I was outside on the deck and I heard you…screaming. Jesus. So I went looking for you. There were two Rnotehati, one of them with a knife in its eye. I tore its head off. The other one was standing over you, Will, and you had passed out, and it was about to rip you apart. I got to it first.

“That’s when I saw Xander. I thought he was dead. He had to be. You were practically dust yourself, Will. So I carried him up here and then came back for you. But by the time I got you in bed, Xander was moving. Scared the shit out of me, because he couldn’t be. But he was.

“And now I’ve spent all night and half the morning patching you up, and trying to get blood down your stubborn goddamn throat.”

Spike was trying to process this, he really was, but it didn’t make sense. “But…how…Xander?”

Xander shrugged.

“Will, what the hell were you doing with those demons?”

“They had a pair of humans. They were killing them, and….”

“And Xander ran in to the rescue.”

Xander shook his head and pointed at Spike.

“What? You mean…_Spike_ ran in to the rescue?”

Xander nodded.

Angel frowned at Spike. “Why?”

“I dunno. They were hurting them, and….” His voice trailed off. Why had he done it? He wasn’t sure. He heard those kiddies crying, and…and he didn’t want them hurt.

Christ. What was wrong with him?

Xander cocked an eyebrow at him.

Angel pulled a chair over by the bed and sat down, giving both of them a long, considering look. Meanwhile, Spike felt a warm pressure on his hand and realized it was Xander. He squeezed back.

“Berk,” he whispered.

Xander squeezed again.

“Huh,” Angel said.

They were all silent a while.

Finally, Angel spoke. “Xander, you healed unnaturally well from that stake, too. Not even a scar.”

Xander nodded.

“Thought that was the magic, the portal or the loophole thing,” Spike said.

“Me, too. But maybe not.”

Xander moved his other hand to his neck, and pointed to an undamaged spot. Only, it probably should have been damaged at least a bit, because Spike had bitten him there just yesterday evening. Now, it was completely unblemished.

“Pet, do you feel…different?”

Xander lifted his eyebrows and shrugged.

“He’s still human. You’re still human, aren’t you, Xander?” asked Angel.

Xander gave a tentative nod.

“You smell the same as always. And your heart is beating…well, it is now. It wasn’t when I brought you up here last night.”

Xander let go of Spike and made a gesture with both of his hands, pointing back and forth between himself and Spike.

Exchange.

Perhaps…perhaps during the time they were joined, Xander had caught a vampire’s healing and immortality, and Spike had caught a human’s conscience. It…seemed like a fair trade.

Angel sat back in his chair, his mouth gaping open at the implications.

Did this mean Xander would stop aging? Did this mean Spike, like Angel, had a chance at redemption, of not going straight to hell when he met his final death?

Bloody hell.

Xander choked out another small sound, and Spike stared deeply into those brown eyes. They were…happy. Silly pillock had his throat in shreds and he was happy.

Xander kissed his own fingertips and then touched them to Spike’s cheekbone. His lips moved again. “Can’t get rid of me,” is what Spike was pretty sure he said.

“Nor you, me,” he responded.

Xander’s hand wandered lower, over the collar Spike still chose to wear, down Spike’s chest, briefly tweaking a nipple ring, avoiding the barely sealed slash across his stomach, and then farther still.

“Jesus Christ!” mumbled Angel. “You two are incorrigible.” With a final roll of his eyes—and a badly disguised grin—he heaved himself from the chair and stomped out of the room.

Spike turned his head back toward Xander.

“I love you, pet,” he said.

And then Xander mouthed another word. Spike was fairly sure he read it right. But he didn’t understand what it meant: “With.”

 

_  
~~~fin~~~_


End file.
